21 Reasons
by xMinipizzax
Summary: When Rachel finds an envelope taped to her locker, she tries to ignore what it might mean. On the other hand, it's pretty hard to ignore the little notes that keep popping up.
1. Chapter 1

**So, before I left for basic, I said I would post the beginning of my next story. Aaaaand, that never happened because I'm oblivious to life. Anywho, basic sucked. In other words, I miss it and I want to be back and college is hard and somebody please save me from myself.**

**I'm in the process of about six or seven other stories right now, so when I sat down to study about six hours ago, what else could I do with my life but start _another_ story. This randomly popped into my head as I was listening to "Brave" by Sara Bareillas (don't ask, I don't know why, it just happened) and I had to write it. I hope someone out there enjoys it (because it's un-beta'd and I'm tired).**

* * *

It all started with an envelope taped to the outside of her locker.

She wanted to believe that something had happened previously that morning, something that would've given her a clue. She wanted to believe that, if she searched her mind hard enough, she would find her answer. Yet, she knew that this wasn't the case. Everything about her morning had been the same as any—well, minus the letter, obviously.

She arrived at school earlier than most of her peers—or so she figured—and parked in her normal parking spot. She shot a glance up to the sky and noted that there were no clouds as of yet, and a small smile formed on her lips at the thought of another beautiful day of autumn.

It wasn't until she walked into the school building and turned the corner that her morning became anything less than her average day. Missing a step, she noticed a splotch of white among her otherwise tannish locker—a splotch of white that had most certainly not been there when she had left the school property the day before.

Wary of anything out of the ordinary, Rachel slowed her pace down and glanced at her surroundings. No one _seemed_ to be watching, waiting to witness some humiliating prank. Then again, Rachel knew she was being paranoid because no one had bothered her since the end of freshman year when she and Quinn had become friends. It had been a little over a year, but Rachel figured she would just never be completely carefree in a place where she'd been tortured for months on end before relief came in the form of one Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader and Head Bitch in Charge of the high school.

Not that Rachel thought the "bitch" part was necessary, but Quinn always said that appearances needed to be maintained. It also helped that Rachel had never been on the receiving end of the blonde's method of keeping her peers in line. Thank Barbra for small blessings, because Rachel had seen the blonde act outright _terrifying_ at times.

Rachel shuddered, thinking of those hazel eyes striking fear in the very souls of her previous tormentors. Karofsky had never looked so pale.

Approaching her locker, she held a faint hope that the paper was maybe taped to the one next to hers.

It wasn't.

In fact, right on the front of the envelope was a neatly scrawled "Rachel." The script writing was actually impressive, and Rachel would have ruminated more about it if her curiosity hadn't already won her over.

Looking over her shoulder one last time to check for bystanders, and possible culprits, Rachel found the hallways remained empty.

She reached for the envelope, half of her mind telling her it was a bad idea, and turned it over.

"Open me." The cursive remained and Rachel wondered who had written it, as it really was flawless.

She bit her lip, unsure as to what would be inside of the letter. It wasn't as if this was a normal occurrence. However, she figured it couldn't be something bad.

And, in the case that this was some kind of prank, Quinn would take care of it. _Quinn_. Rachel rolled her eyes at herself for not thinking about texting her best friend in the first place. Taking out her phone, she started her message.

**Rachel: Say you are in a situation in which something out of the ordinary has happened. You are ultimately given the choice to make it into something or ignore it and, though it seems as though the situation is harmless, you're not sure if you should proceed. What do you do?**

She waited no longer than a few seconds before she received a response.

**Quinn: Because that's ****not at all ambiguous.**

Rachel laughed lightly, smiling at her friend and herself.

**Rachel: I will ignore your sarcasm this once, but only because I was being rather obtuse. **

**Quinn: :)**

**Quinn: Expand?**

**Rachel: There's an envelope taped to my locker. I don't know if it would be wise for me to open it.**

**Quinn: That's odd.**

Rachel looked down to the envelope she had tucked under her arm so she could text faster. She wasn't sure she could _not_ open it. What if it was important? Someone had put it there for a reason, after all.

**Quinn: The curiosity is killing you isn't it?**

It was as if Quinn was reading her thoughts, though she seemed to do that relatively often.

**Rachel: A little bit.**

**Quinn: Just open it, you goof.**

Rolling her eyes, Rachel tucked her phone in her pocket and held the envelope before her. Looking down, she ran her finger over the seam before finding the edge and slipping her finger under it. She managed to avoid ripping the writing, but she paused before flipping the lip over. She needed that moment to mentally prepare herself for the possible outcomes.

There was a piece of white computer paper inside and, just as she was about to pull it out, she felt her phone buzz from her pocket. Ignoring it, figuring it was a text from Quinn mocking her, she plucked the paper out with two fingers and placed it over the envelope.

The paper was smooth, folded into thirds, and Rachel could see the hint of printed words with the little bit of light that was showing through. When she unfolded it, she blinked a few times to make sure she had read the words properly.

Yet, even after rubbing both of her eyes a few times, the words had not changed.

**21 reasons I am in love with Rachel Berry**

And below the words on the page were empty spaces numbered one through twenty-one. Rachel furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of what the paper was supposed to mean. Was it supposed to be insulting, meaning that there were no reasons? Or was she supposed to fill them in?

She turned the paper over, thinking maybe she missed something the first time. When she found nothing she looked inside the envelope, but again found nothing extra. Her shoulders slumped and she was confused—this was not what she had expected.

Her phone buzzed again, so she shook away her thoughts about the letter and tucked it into the front pocket of her bookbag. She'd think more about it later, she decided.

When she looked at her phone, she saw she had two messages from Quinn.

**Quinn: Well?**

**Quinn: Did you look? What was it?**

**Rachel: Just a blank piece of paper. I'm not sure if I should be concerned or merely confused.**

She couldn't say what made her lie, but she had a weird feeling that she shouldn't have even mentioned the envelope in the first place. Quinn would probably be pissed that someone was messing with her and Rachel didn't want her friend to start something when it was really no big deal.

She sighed. The letter made her bookbag feel heavy.

* * *

Rachel's hopes of finding out more about the letter, specifically of who wrote it, were diminishing as the day went on. Physics went by as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as did math and Spanish. When lunch came, Rachel had never been more disgruntled. Unfortunately, Quinn had picked up on her mood almost instantaneously and she felt even worse for knowing she was about to lie to her friend for the second time that day. For the second time in their entire friendship, really.

"What's up, Rach?" She asked, all furrowed-eyebrows and piercing hazel.

"Nothing." The brunette sat down and opened her lunch. "Just Mr. Shuester failing to teach me any proper Spanish, as per usual."

"You sure?" The blonde didn't seem convinced as she bit into her carrot stick.

Rachel looked away from her sandwich for a moment to look at her friend. She could see the genuine concern in the blonde's eyes and it only succeeded in making her feel worse. She caved.

"Well, the letter has me out of sorts, I suppose." There, she wasn't lying this time.

Quinn hummed, clearly mulling over the mysterious letter Rachel had informed her of earlier.

"Don't let it get to you, I'm sure it was just some weirdo trying to get your attention. Though, I don't know what a blank piece of paper was supposed to accomplish."

Rachel shrugged. "Me neither." Okay, so lying by omission still counted as lying. She ignored the tight feeling in her stomach and took a bite of her sandwich. It didn't taste as good as it should have.

* * *

After escaping lunch, Rachel hoped her English class would make her feel a little better. Fortunately, the teacher had decided to just have a student hand out multiple copies of whatever book they were reading and told them all to read up to chapter five by the end of class.

Rachel rolled her eyes, knowing that each chapter was probably only a few pages long. Really, her high school's expectations were almost insulting.

Accepting the book that plopped onto her desk, Rachel flipped over to the first page of the first chapter and flinched as a small piece of paper fluttered out from between the pages.

She leaned over in her desk to pick up the tiny rectangle and frowned when she looked over it to see what it was.

_**#1 Her smile**_

What on Earth did that mean? She noticed something familiar about the words, however, and almost didn't believe her own thoughts. They were written in script that looked almost identical to the writing that she had seen this morning.

But there was no way…

Rachel's eyes widened as she connected the dots. What was going on? And how had that piece of paper magically found its way into the book that she was randomly assigned. In order to double check, she glanced up and searched for anyone else having found a piece of paper in their book. No one seemed perturbed, nor did she notice someone looking at her. Drat. She had mildly hoped someone would have been watching her to see her reaction.

_Her smile._

_Well_, she figured, _there are much worse forms of torture than anonymous compliments._

* * *

**If I get enough feedback, I think I can manage bi-weekly updates. There will probably be 23 chapters at most.**


	2. Chapter 2

**If only I could write the essays I have due as often as I write fanfics. Sigh.**

**Note that this universe if obviously all over the place. Rachel's in her Junior year and has friends. I know. Completely ridiculous.**

* * *

Having finished the five chapters with more than half of the class left, Rachel closed her copy of the book and stared at the cover. The mystery of the paper finding its way into her book still bothered her and she found herself glaring at the cover unconsciously.

She huffed. She had never been a fan of not being in 'the know.' It was as if someone was messing with her, but they were certainly being a bit too nice if they were trying to hurt her. Maybe this first note was to get her hopes up and the second one would dash them.

She wanted to know what this was: was it a joke or was it serious? She wanted that second note now and, as she stared at the book cover, an idea hit her. She turned the book so that the binding faced the ceiling and the edges of the pages faced down. Flapping the pages by brushing her thumb over them, she hoped in vain for another note to fall out.

When none did, she sighed. She should have figured it wouldn't be that easy. Maybe if she asked whoever had passed out the books…

She froze in thought. Who _had_ passed out the books?

She looked around to those she recognized in the room. Noah was in the corner throwing paper airplanes at Mike and Mike was swatting the air assault down with the swing of his own novel. She smiled lightly at their antics but moved on, knowing the teacher would've never asked either of them. Well, not Noah anyway. Maybe Mike. But she couldn't picture Mike as having anything to do with the note.

Then again, he _had_ asked her to homecoming last year…

But they were just really good friends now and she was pretty sure Mike had a thing for Tina anyway.

Moving on again, she quickly passed over the group of Cheerios and realized that she didn't really talk to anyone else in the class besides Noah and Mike. Well, there was Santana, but the Latina wasn't really her _friend_ per se. It was more like the Cheerio only tolerated her because of Quinn. Not that she was _rude_ to Rachel, but she definitely kept her distance.

The girl in question was sitting with the rest of the Cheerios, but she wasn't saying a thing. She was just spinning her finger over her book and looked absolutely bored.

Rachel bit her lip. Maybe whoever had placed the note had just gotten lucky and had placed it there before class. But she couldn't believe that seeing as it was too much of a coincidence.

The bell rang and Rachel jumped, completely unaware that she had spent over half the class thinking about her, well, she guessed she could call it her secret admirer. The name made her feel self-conscious, though, as if she thought she was worth such a thing. And it wasn't that she didn't think she was, she was just…

Old habits died hard, she guessed.

* * *

Nothing else happened in the rest of her classes, and Rachel was eventually able to put the whole ordeal in the back of her mind. In fact, by the time it was time to head over to Glee, she had almost completely forgotten about it.

It wasn't until she saw Quinn sitting in her usual seat that Rachel was reminded about the note. The wash of guilt wiped away any beginnings of a smile she had aimed at her friend and she kept her head down as she sat next to the blonde.

If Quinn had noticed, she didn't acknowledge Rachel's odd behavior.

"So, anything new with the note?" she heard whispered in her ear. The singer jumped a little bit for the second time that day, not expecting Quinn to have leaned in so close.

She swallowed and looked to her right. "Still in the dark," she replied, managing a small smile she knew wouldn't reach her eyes.

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. Want me to ask around?"

"No!" Rachel half-yelled. Her eyes widened as she felt surprised at her own reaction. She wasn't exactly sure why she didn't want Quinn involved. Part of her was embarrassed, but part of her also liked the fact that someone was going out of their way to do…whatever it was they were doing.

She was also afraid it was all a prank and didn't want to get excited over nothing.

"No, but thanks," she reaffirmed, getting a handle over her emotions. "That won't be necessary, Quinn. I'm sure someone was just trying to get a laugh or something."

The blonde raised her eyebrow and Rachel knew that Quinn didn't completely trust what Rachel was saying, but she didn't verbally question it either. Rachel just smiled genuinely this time and turned to the front of the room as their teacher walked in.

"Okay, guys," Mr. Shuester started. "This week's theme is going to be…"

Rachel relaxed in her chair, happy to zone out the rest of the world in favor of music.

* * *

After Glee let out, Rachel headed to her car with a smile planted firmly on her face. Mr. Shuester had assigned partners to sing songs about the weather—a point to which she wasn't too happy about, but her appeal had been shot down. What had her happy was having Noah as a partner for the first time that year. It didn't happen often that they were paired but, when it did, they sounded amazing.

She really couldn't blame Mr. Shue for not pairing them more often, however, as Jesse was a more than adequate lead. In fact, Rachel could admit that he was likely her male equivalent. It didn't help that he was graduating at the end of the year, however.

Then again, that just meant more duets with Noah, so Rachel couldn't be too broken up about it.

It was a well-known fact that Rachel and Noah had been friends since childhood, though he would never admit aloud the details of their friendship. They'd also had a brief more-than-friendship fling last year, but it had only lasted a week and they both agreed being friends was more important. Not that it stopped him from trying to hook up with her at parties.

Quinn, on the other hand, proved a pretty decent buzzkill for Noah's feisty moods. The boy had spent forever trying to get the blonde to give him a chance, but time and time again she turned him down.

Speaking of the blonde, Rachel felt bad for her friend. Quinn had been assigned Tina as a partner and, while they both had rather nice voices, they were both so quiet and soft. Quinn was the type of singer who worked well with someone with a more prominent voice. Not unlike Rachel herself, actually.

But the brunette was sure that, whatever song they chose, Quinn would be as amazing as ever. And Tina, too, but Tina wasn't her best friend so she wasn't mandated to be her number one fan.

As she buckled her seatbelt, she noticed that the sun was awkwardly angled to hit her right in the face. She squinted and reached up to pull down the visor, eyes immediately relieved in the shade.

Now that she could see again, she didn't miss the light glinting off of something that seemed to have fallen from her visor. She couldn't recall having placed anything in that particular part of her car, so she was confused when she looked down to her lap and saw a familiar piece of paper.

She almost didn't want to read it, but she knew there was no possible way she could actually avoid doing so. Curiosity killed the cat and yada yada.

The piece of paper was approximately the same size as the previous one, so she picked it up and took a breath before flipping it over.

_**#2 Her eyes.**_

* * *

Rachel was lying on her bed as she thought the day over. She had counted the stars on her ceiling more times than she could say, but that didn't stop her from doing it over and over again.

She thought about the original piece of paper that was in the envelope and then the two cut-out pieces of paper she'd received since then. The original paper was clearly computer paper as the words had been typed on a computer. The cut-outs, though, the cut-outs were cut from lined paper and were handwritten. Rachel wondered if that meant anything. Why type the one and write the others?

Frustrated, she rubbed her hands over her face. Her fathers would be home any minute and Noah was due to come over in a few hours, so she didn't have time to think about these things. Yet, it was almost impossible _not_ to.

Someone out there had written those notes and Rachel wanted to know who. As of that morning, it could have been anyone. Anyone could have taped the envelope to her locker, just as anyone could have hidden the paper in her book. The car part was what stuck to her.

After reading the note, she had been slightly creeped out that someone had been in her car. Fearing some horror movie moment, she quickly checked her backseat and trunk, only to find nothing out of place. She wished she had locked the doors that morning, but she had been distracted by the sky. She wondered if whoever wrote the notes would've been able to get in regardless, of if he had just been lucky.

The most disconcerting thing was that the notes really could have been _anyone._ They were not anything specific about her personality. Anyone walking down the hallways could notice her smile and her eyes. Not that Rachel genuinely believed someone had written the notes about her. Not yet.

It wasn't that she thought she was unattractive, not really. Noah and Quinn had made sure of that much once they'd both solidified their friendship. It was just hard to feel like she was desirable sometimes, especially when her two best friends were easily the most attractive people she had ever met in her entire life. And then Quinn was on the Cheerios so most of her other friends were relatively attractive as well.

So why her? What was so special about her that had someone doing something so…elaborate?

Quinn certainly hadn't ever had anything similar done for her, and Rachel thought the blonde was much more deserving of the attention. Then again, her friend was quick to tear people down with her gaze alone, so maybe no one tried out of fear.

Or maybe it really was a joke.

But what if it was serious and someone really was in love with her? Ugh, the suspense was killing her.

"Rachel!" She heard her dad call from downstairs. She sighed, deciding to be honest with her father. She wouldn't be able to function if she kept it a secret from everyone.

* * *

"So, some boy is leaving notes around school for you to find?" Her father looked at her skeptically from across the table. He sipped from his cup of hot cider as he watched his daughter shift in her seat.

"Yes, I suppose so." She looked down to fingernails and suddenly noticed that her cuticles could use a good pushing back. "I've only received three so far, so I can't say that they are solely to be found on the school premises." She neglected to mention that she'd found the latest one in her car—there was no need to worry her father unnecessarily.

Her dad rubbed his chin and hummed. He looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling. "Well, if he ever shows himself, I'd like to meet him."

"Me, too." Rachel placed her chin on her arms, which were folded over the tabletop.

Her father laughed, standing up to ruffle his daughter's hair.

"Be impressed, kiddo. Not many boys have the maturity to show their feelings in such a manner at this age." He paused. "Or any age for that matter."

"I know, Dad," she muttered, pouting as she heard her dad greet her daddy in the hallway.

"Hey, Hir, you'll never guess what Rachel just told me."

* * *

It took her less than eleven seconds—she timed herself—to run to the front door to let Noah inside.

"Noah," she greeted with a smile, arm still hanging onto the door.

"Fellow Jew." He smiled back and lifted her into a hug. "How're the Berry's Mister?"

She stopped her eyes from rolling mid-hug. His greeting hadn't changed in over five years and she doubted it ever would.

"They're as good as ever, Noah. And yourself?" It was more of a ritual for them than formality. Every time the mohawked boy would visit, they greeted each other the same way without fail.

"Better now that I'm here with you." He smirked, giving her a wink as he let her down gently. She giggled, as she always did, before telling him it was time to get down to business. His following innuendo was not unexpected.

* * *

"Rachel, we are _not_ singing "_It's Raining Men_."

"But—"

"No buts, unless it's yours and I get to cop a feel."

"But—"

"No."

"Fine." She really thought the Rachel Berry pout would work.

* * *

It didn't take them long to settle on a song. Well, not once Rachel finally gave up on The Weather Girls, anyway.

It was fortunate that Noah had been her friend for years, because her taste in music had been pretty narrow before he insisted that she'd need a broad range if she ever wanted to make it in an industry revolving around all types of music.

Okay, so he'd worded it a little differently, but the point got across.

"Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles suited their voices quite nicely and—after an hour and a half of fine-tuning—Rachel was placated.

They were talking about the upcoming game this week when Rachel considered confiding in her friend about the notes. She watched as Noah's features lit up when he was talking about how he was pretty sure they were going to win again, which meant they were in good standing for play-offs.

"Noah," she interrupted his tirade about how he hoped the cheerleaders would give him a little something special if he won the winning touchdown.

He looked up, noticing the distracted look in her eyes. Placing his guitar down, as he had been perfecting the tune throughout their conversation, he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, babe?"

She felt the corner of her lip lift at the term that, used on anyone else, would mean he was trying to flirt. "Do you think I'm…" she trailed off, not sure how to phrase her question. Noah wasn't one for heart to hearts, usually. He didn't really like talking about feelings. But, for her, she knew he usually made exceptions.

"As a teenage boy similar to most of your peers, do you think I'm worth dating?"

He blinked, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" she trailed off again, suddenly self-conscious. She knew Noah wouldn't lie to her, but she was also unsure if she wanted to know the answer to her question. "If we weren't friends and I was just another girl to you, would you chase after me like you do every other girl? Or would I be off-limits because I'm Rachel Berry?"

Puck's forehead scrunched as his confusion doubled. "Well, that depends on what you mean by being 'Rachel Berry,'" he answered. "If you mean incredibly talented and, uh, caring and stuff, then I guess I'd feel like a dick for chasing you when you're clearly the kind of girl with standards."

"That's not what I meant," she sighed. She knew this would be difficult. "I mean Rachel Berry, the annoying girl with the big mouth. The one who was bullied all throughout freshman year and whose best friend is singlehandedly the most popular girl in school."

"Well." He gave her a look. "If I noticed you had a big mouth, it wouldn't be because I was fantasizing about you talking with it." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Noah!" She smacked his arm. "You know what I meant."

"Rach, if we weren't friends I'd have won you over years ago," he laughed. "You know my mom has a soft spot for you." He watched as the smile that had blossomed faded away. "What's this about, really?"

She looked away from him and bit her lip. Her insecurities were getting the best of her again and she felt like she needed some reassurance that she wasn't losing it. "I received an anonymous letter today upon entering the school and it's affecting me more than I care to admit."

Her friend's features darkened as he took in her words. "What kind of note?" he questioned.

"Oh!" She took note of the change in his demeanor. "Nothing _bad_, technically. It was just a… well, take a look for yourself."

She pulled her bookbag over and grabbed all three notes from the front pocket. She handed them over and watched Puck's face as surprise took over.

"Someone's writing you love notes." He framed it as a question, yet his tone made it more of a statement.

Rachel wrung her hands together. "I…yes."

"And you think they're fake because you don't think anyone could find you attractive?"

She made no movement at first, but her mohawked friend refused to look away from her. Nodding mutely, she watched as he sighed.

"Rachel, I'm only gonna say this once because I don't do this type of shit. But you're hot, okay? Totally tapable and, if I were that kind of guy, datable. I don't know any guys who would do something like this, but I doubt it's a joke. Me and Quinn made it pretty clear that messing with you is messing with us."

"Quinn and I," she corrected automatically, playing with her smile.

"Oh, hush up, short stuff," he groaned as he wrapped his arms around her and mussed up her hair. There really was nothing like a Rachel Berry screech.

"Noah!"

* * *

**So? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Quinn: Say you are in a situation where your practice gets cancelled because your coach allegedly hired a demolition crew to tear down a haunted house when she found it to be "less intimidating than Jewfro's hair covered in William's disgusting excuse for hair gel." You want to give your best friend a ride to school, but you're not sure how to proceed. What do you do?**

That was the text that Rachel woken up to, her eyes heavy with sleep. She felt more tired than usual and there was no doubt in her mind it was due to the dreams that had had her tossing and turning all night. Well, nightmares, really.

In one, she was chased around the school by zombies only to find out that David Karofsky was the one leaving the notes in her locker. Then, the zombies started to laugh at her when they found out it _had _been a prank meant to break down her self-confidence, and their jaws kept falling off as they let it all out. In the next dream, it had been Azimio Adams leaving her the notes, but he had actually been sincere and had proposed to her in front of the entire school. Sue Sylvester had personally offered to be their priest.

Rachel shuddered at the memories, unsure which of the outcomes was worse.

Before her alarm went off, she had been in the middle of one where the culprit was still anonymous, but she had felt hands over her eyes and a whispered "_Guess who?"_ had sent goosebumps down her neck and arms in a flurry. It was almost as if she recognized the voice.

**Rachel: Your mockery is duly noted -_-**

**Quinn: I wouldn't want to be known for anything else :D**

Rachel wondered how many times she could roll her eyes at her friend before they simply got stuck.

**Rachel: I expect to be picked up at 7:01 on the dot, Fabray.**

**Quinn: Yes, Ms. Berry ;)**

Years ago she would've chided herself for being so distracted in the morning, but today Rachel was rather impressed by her ability to text and brush her teeth at the same time.

**Rachel: Why am I friends with you again?**

When Quinn didn't respond right away, the brunette changed her clothes and headed downstairs. It was getting chilly out as it was mid-October so she was forced to forgo her usual skirt and instead opted for some jeans and a sweater. A bowl of fruit was sitting on the table when she reached the kitchen and she made sure to give her dad a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you. Her phone buzzed next to her bowl the moment she sat down.

**Quinn: I think you just like to use me as arm candy.**

Rachel chuckled to herself as she took a bite of her breakfast. She always enjoyed the days that Quinn was playful, as they were oftentimes few and far between. Quinn was an enigma half the time; sometimes Rachel felt like she could read the blonde's thoughts word for word, and other times she felt like she didn't even know the other girl.

Quinn was the kind of girl who didn't express her feelings very well, and Rachel had grown accustomed to her odd behavior. One day, the Cheerio would smile and laugh with Rachel about years previous. She would tell stories about past summers spent camping and sometimes she'd even snuggle closer to Rachel on the bed when she slept over. Then, in a complete 180, the next day Quinn might shut down completely and avoid Rachel for days.

The blonde had walls—of that, Rachel was certain—but the singer thought she had been breaking them down over the last year. Then, Quinn's sister had to go and leave for college and Rachel felt as if she was back to square one.

**Rachel: You caught me. :)**

When Quinn didn't respond again, Rachel figured it was because she was on her way. It was nearly seven so the brunette finished up her fruit and handed the bowl over to her daddy, kissing him on the cheek as she grabbed her bookbag and headed for the door.

"Hey!" Her other father frowned from his seat at the table, newspaper folded down so he could meet her eyes. "Where's my goodbye?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Maybe if you wouldn't have mocked me yesterday…" she trailed off and ran out the door, giggling at the sound of her daddy's hearty laughter.

* * *

The smile on Quinn's face had Rachel's mood lifting even higher. She only hoped the blonde's good mood would keep.

"Seven oh one on the dot," the taller girl stated from the driver's seat. "What's my reward?" As Rachel clambered in and buckled up, she raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"Really?" What did Quinn expect, a cookie?

The blonde pouted as she pulled out of the driveway. "Hey! I had to stand at a stop sign for an awkwardly long moment just to time my arrival right. I think I deserve a cookie or something at the very least."

Rachel laughed as she looked over her shoulder at her friend. She could already tell that today would be one of her favorite types of days with the other girl. This kind of Quinn was the one she could mess with, so she pulled some slack from her seatbelt and leaned over to plant a sloppy kiss on her friend's cheek.

"There's your payment."

"Whatever," the blonde mumbled, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "I still want a cookie." Rachel was too busy resituating herself to see the faint blush on pale cheeks.

* * *

There was one thing in particular that Rachel hated about Tuesdays, and that was the fact that it was the only day of the week that she had gym. Physics, math, and Spanish _combined_ could not fill her with as much dread as gym did. And Shue taught Spanish, so that was really saying something.

The brunette knew she brought a whole new meaning to the word "un-athletic." She liked to think that it wasn't completely her fault, seeing as neither of her fathers had been athletic. According to them, her biological mother had been immersed in the arts as well, and so Rachel had drawn the conclusion that her mother had not donated any genes that would help her in the phys ed. department, either.

So, with great disdain, she eyed her gym locker and spun in the combination code for her lock. Her black gym shirt sat folded on top of her shorts, as it always did, but Rachel noticed something out of place. Right under where the shirt read "McKinley," something wasn't right. Where there was a blank white circle—Rachel never had figured out what it was supposed to mean—there was also a piece of paper.

Looking to her left and right, Rachel found no one left in the locker room. Knowing that the paper was probably another note, she grabbed for it and froze. The heat rushing to her face at the words was no surprise.

_**#3 Her legs.**_

_Well_, she thought. _That was certainly different from the last two._

It was both a blessing and a curse that Rachel needed to change quickly, seeing as she was about to be late for class. However, after lacing up her sneakers, she suddenly felt self-conscious about her shorts. Where they too short? Short enough?

She sighed, banging her head against her gym locker. Whoever this guy was, he was officially jumbling her thoughts and taking over her mind. She definitely would not be able to concentrate on school if the notes were going to be a daily thing.

But she knew the original note read 21 reasons, so at least it would eventually come to an end. Right?

Unlike she previously thought, the brunette found out she was no longer alone in the locker room. Her shoulder tensed at the footsteps.

"Rach," she heard the amusement in her friend's voice. "I don't think claiming your locker gave you a concussion will get you out of gym." She breathed again, inwardly mocking herself at the idea that her mystery person had been the one walking toward her.

"It was worth a try," the brunette mumbled, pushing herself off of her locker. Turning, she was met with the sight of Quinn trying to hold back a smile.

"Shall we?" The blonde ushered towards the door.

* * *

It was impossible. No matter how hard Rachel hit the volleyball, it refused to go over the net. She'd made a fist like the teacher told her to, she'd open-palmed it, and she had even basically punched the darn thing.

Nada.

Every single time it would hit the middle of the net, or it would just go completely under it. But never, not ever, would it just go over the damn thing. Rachel was getting frustrated.

"This is impossible!" She stomped her foot as she watched her most recent attempt bounce under the net and roll, only stopping when it came into contact with a pair of black and white sneakers.

Jesse St. James looked down to his feet and then back up to Rachel, eyebrow raised as if in question. He must have noticed her clenched fists and slightly pissed off demeanor because he walked over and offered her the ball.

"I believe this is yours," he smiled charmingly, and Rachel felt some of her anger fade.

"Yeah," she mumbled, eyes downcast in embarrassment. She wondered when her superior vocabulary went out the window. It wasn't as if this was her first conversation with the boy; she'd spoken to him plenty of times. It was just that it had always been in Glee, or Glee related. "I suppose it is."

She took it with two hands and half-smiled at him. For some reason, she felt her face flushing and she figured she was just embarrassed for being such a…such a _doof._ God, Quinn's vocabulary was rubbing off on her.

"Would you like a few pointers? I noticed that you could use a little help, if you don't mind me saying." He seemed genuine, so Rachel just bit her lip and nodded.

"Well, then." Rachel noted his smile growing bigger and couldn't help but think it made him that much more attractive. She wasn't blind, after all, and she'd noticed him the moment he sang his opening notes for his Glee club audition. "First off, you might prefer the underhand swing."

For the next half an hour, Rachel found herself not hating gym class as much as she had previously thought.

* * *

The rest of Rachel's day went by in somewhat of a haze and it was time to head to Glee before she knew it. After gym, she was left with thoughts about Jesse and Glee and how she just felt so…light. It wasn't often that someone went out of his or her way to help her, so Rachel knew she was probably overthinking the whole situation.

Yet…she couldn't deny the way her stomach felt like Quinn must when she was being thrown around during Cheerio routines. It was awful and exciting at the same time and Rachel knew she was on her way to being an emotional mess.

Combined with her thoughts of Jesse, the singer had realized something troublesome after gym class—a boy had snuck into the girls' locker room and had somehow figured out which locker was hers. Whoever this person was, he had to be much closer than she had previously believed.

Either that, or it was Jacob Ben Israel and he was breaking the rules of his restraining order.

Again.

Rachel missed a step at the thought and almost plummeted down the stairs, her papers flying like doves let loose at a wedding—not that the brunette condoned using animals for such a purpose, but still. A firm grip on her arm was the only thing that had saved her from a gruesome, pre-stardom death. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest over her scare and she quickly turned to her right to see the hand's owner.

"Holy Barbra, than—" she cut herself off from thanking her savior when she found herself staring into a pair of eyes so dark they were almost black.

"Don't mention it, hobbit. Really." Santana Lopez eyed her for a quick minute and Rachel could actually feel the scrutiny. Bending down, the taller girl formed the fallen papers into a semi-neat pile and handed them over. "Are you gonna watch your step this time or do I have to call a clean up crew?"

Rachel swallowed, her nerves keeping her rooted on the spot. "I, um, I'll be sure to pay more attention to my surroundings from now on."

It was extremely disappointing knowing she couldn't keep her cool after all of those expensive acting courses she'd taken. Her grip on her papers tightened as she waited for the other girl to say something.

"Good." And with that, the Latina turned and headed down the rest of the stairs. Rachel blinked owlishly, unsure if that had really just happened.

* * *

Walking into Glee—her nerves having since had time to calm down sufficiently—Rachel found herself confused. Quinn was already there, but the blonde was sitting next to Santana instead of in her usual spot. She tried to make eye contact with her friend, but the blonde seemed otherwise engaged in conversation with the two Cheerios by her side.

Figuring there was a perfectly logical reason, Rachel headed over to the empty seat next to Noah and placed her head on his shoulder. When he reached his arm over her shoulders in response, she allowed a smile to break through.

"Hey, babe, what's up?"

She shrugged. "Quinn's sitting with Santana today."

"Ah, gotcha," he said.

The chatter in the room quieted down as Mr. Shuester made his way towards the dry-erase board. Grabbing a marker, the man snapped off the cap and started writing.

_The weather_

He underlined it to add that little bit of emphasis and Rachel mentally rolled her eyes. She genuinely liked her teacher; he was just a bit egocentric sometimes, always believing his own personal troubles applied to everyone. She had half-formed a scenario in her head about how he was unsure of his feelings for Mrs. Pillsbury and was simultaneously caught up in his feelings for his shamble of a marriage.

"Okay guys, I know we discussed this week's theme the other day but I really want you guys to take this seriously. A mood is like the weather—it can change drastically in just a few moments. So I really want you guys to pick…"

As her teacher went on, Rachel found herself thinking about the last two days. First, she'd found the envelope on her locker. Then, she'd received that first note in a random book. The second one had been in her car, and the third in her gym locker. Anyone could have done the envelope and car, seeing as she had left it unlocked. However, the gym locker was different. Someone had to have done some research to solve that one. And, if this guy hadn't gotten into the girls locker room, then he must have had some help. Which meant someone else might know about what was going on.

The brunette looked around, suddenly suspicious. Her gaze flitted over the three Cheerios in the back row, and Mercedes, Sugar, and Tina only a few seats over. She paused at Matt, Mike, and Joe, a row in front of the two girls.

She had never really spoken to Matt before, and she had already crossed Mike off her list of possibilities. Joe was a possibility, but Rachel pretended not to notice that—his dreads reminded her of spiders.

Artie sat on the other side of Puck and Rachel sincerely doubted he had anything to do with the notes, seeing as he was apparently dating some "Freaky Mama" from his wheelchair basketball club.

Puck was obviously not a candidate, and that left Sam or Jesse. Rachel ran her fingers over her lips, mulling over the implications inside of her head. If it was Sam, she was flattered. He was a very attractive guy, quarterback of the football team, and his hair—though a little too reminiscent of Beiber—was a fine shade of blonde. He was even the type of shy that would be likely to do something such as leave notes around.

She briefly entertained the idea of walking down the hallway with him, only to shake the image out of her head. She highly doubted he harbored secret feelings for her seeing as he had just sang a love song to Mercedes last week.

That left…Jesse.

While Rachel could admit that it wasn't definite that her admirer had to be in Glee, she figured it was more likely than not, and if it _was_ Jesse…

Well, she wouldn't complain.

She glanced over at the boy, who was seated in Kurt's old spot and next to Sam. His hair was as flowy as ever and she vaguely wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

Almost as if he could feel her gaze, the boy looked over at her and the corner of his mouth lifted as he smiled in acknowledgement. Caught, she aimed her gaze down to her lap and tried to hide her blush.

"Hey." Noah suddenly gave her shoulder a light shake. "You there, babe?"

"Huh?" Apparently, her eloquence was on high today.

"Shue just asked who wanted to perform today, I figured you'd jump at the chance."

Rachel turned to the front of the room to find her teacher looking at her expectantly. She straightened in her chair as she suppressed the rush of blood to her face—no wonder Jesse had looked over at her. She had failed to meet the one standard everyone had set for her, which was to always be prepared and ready to perform.

She smoothed her sweater as she stood and announced that she and Noah would be performing. The music notes were on the floor under her seat, so she bent down to grab them before heading over to the band. As she sorted through the pages to hand Brad the proper piece, a small sheet fell out and sank to the ground. That was unusual, she thought, as none of her music sheets were that small.

The explanation ended up being easier than she expected, however, as the paper had landed face up. She quickly snatched up the cut-out before Brad or Shue had time to read it—or worse, question it. Her hand felt hot and she wondered if the words had branded into her palm.

_**#4 She's a songbird.**_

* * *

**If you want to leave a review, I won't hate you for it. **


	4. Chapter 4

**This was supposed to be much longer, but I just wanted to get this up. I broke up with my girlfriend of almost a year, so that's why I haven't updated and I'm really sorry about that.**

**This chapter is mostly a way to show the friendship between Rachel and Quinn (because, as I've mentioned, they've been friends for some time now). I don't always find myself able to convey their (imaginary) past, so just know that this is not some random insert, it's pretty much average for them.**

* * *

There was no doubt in Rachel's mind that Quinn was avoiding her. She could reason with Quinn sitting next to Santana earlier in Glee as the two were co-captains of the Cheerios and likely had business to discuss. She could even have ignored the fact that the blonde had pointedly refused to acknowledge her presence throughout the entire practice session.

However, her best friend brushing past her on her way to the room's exit was something the brunette could not make an excuse for. She sighed because she was not new to this side of Quinn.

"Quinn Fabray!" she shouted, practically stomping after the other girl. The note that rested in her sweater pocket was completely forgotten as Rachel followed Quinn to her locker.

By the time she caught up, the taller girl was swirling the combination into her lock as Rachel approached. A frustrated tug on the lock was all Rachel needed to see to know that Quinn was definitely upset about something, and she watched as the blonde repeated the code. The second time seemed to do the trick, and books were being shoved into a black bookbag almost instantly. Rachel opened the locker wider so that it wasn't in her face and kept her gaze focused on the hazel eyes she'd grown to know.

When Quinn made no effort to acknowledge her yet again, Rachel crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "I know you know I'm standing right next to you."

Watching the blonde roll her eyes, Rachel felt her back straighten instinctively. The day had started so well and yet Quinn had still somehow found herself in a bad mood. She wondered what had possibly given Quinn a reason to pull back today because, while the blonde's emotions were never predictable, Rachel usually at least had a day before they changed so drastically.

"What's going on? And don't block me out again, Quinn," she demanded—being timid at a time like this never worked.

The locker slammed shut in response and Rachel jumped at the sound but held her place as Quinn turned to look at her. Sometimes…her friend could be rather intimidating. It wasn't often—in fact, it was outright rare—that Rachel found herself on the receiving end of Quinn's piercing gaze. At that moment, though, that was exactly where Rachel was.

Usually, the blonde's eyes were a splatter of gold and green. The dominant color would change with her mood or the season, but it was autumn and she knew that Quinn's eyes tended to showcase the gold more often than not. That's why the darkness of the taller girl's eyes was almost frightening to her, as they were almost dark enough to be called brown.

She watched as Quinn scrutinized her, her oddly dark eyes scanning her for something. Rachel noted that the other girl seemed almost resigned as she let out a breath of air and leaned into the lockers.

"Why didn't you tell me there was something going on between you and Jesse?"

Rachel felt her brow furrow in confusion, and she almost frowned at the hurt look on the blonde's face. She could tell Quinn was trying to cover it up but her eyes couldn't lie.

"What are you talking about?"

Where Quinn had gotten the notion that there was anything more than friendship between the two was a mystery seeing as Rachel wasn't even sure what was going on with Jesse. Their brief encounter in gym class earlier had been her only form of contact with the boy outside of Glee.

Sure, she'd spent a good portion of practice fantasizing that he had been the one leaving notes, but that didn't mean anything. She basically did that every time someone did something notable for her! And it wasn't like Quinn could read her thoughts anyway. It wasn't her fault that she had an overactive imagination and the hormones of a teenager; she was a teenager, after all, and she really wanted to believe that someone out there could love her with an incomparable, unconditional love. A love that would make all those movies seem ridiculous and life seem inconsequential.

If only for a fleeting moment.

Rachel couldn't believe her eyes when Quinn's lips flattened to a thin line and her features turned angry.

"I'm in your gym class, Rachel. I have eyes, you know." Rachel felt stung as the blonde shoved past her for the second time that day. Her left shoulder would take a beating if this kept up.

"So that's what this is about? Jesse helps me in gym and you think we're suddenly dating?" If it didn't have the slightest bit of possibility for her personality, Rachel would be incredulous. She would be the first to admit she could be dramatic at times, but the span of time between gym and Glee did not a relationship make. "Quinn, that is legitimately the most preposterous thing you have ever said, and that's including the time you accused me and Noah of having sex. On your birthday no less."

It was actually funny in retrospect. The way Quinn's nostrils had flared as her finger waved accusingly at her and Noah. At the moment, Rachel hadn't thought it funny at all. All she had wanted to do was surprise the blonde with a weekend trip to a lake large enough to drive a boat around for a bit and clean enough to swim in. Of course, the man renting her the boat thought he could get away with overcharging her, as if her being a woman made her less sure of her boating details.

Granted, she _had_ accepted the price until Noah had pitched a fit and drove over to tell the guy just where he could stick his overpriced wallet.

Either way, falling off the radar for two hours on her best friend's birthday had not left Quinn in a good place and Rachel didn't think she'd ever forget the tear-streaked face she'd been met with upon showing up at the girl's house. Quinn had seemed so…so devastated.

And people thought _she_ was the dramatic one.

Then Rachel had explained the situation and waved her arms emphatically at the boat, gesturing to it with all the excitement she could muster. That wonderfully rare smile that held back nothing hadn't left Quinn's face that entire weekend.

As she thought more about it, Rachel realized that this was the second time Quinn had assumed she was seeing someone without telling her. She stood in place and watched as the taller girl stopped and turned around.

Quinn looked over Rachel's features again and the brunette didn't hesitate in stepping forward and wrapping her arms around her friend. Quinn didn't return the hug at first, instead asking, "So you haven't been secretly dating him and not telling me about it?"

Rachel shook her head against her shoulder.

"Of course not." She looked up into her friend's eyes. "Why on Earth wouldn't I tell you if I was?" Finally, Rachel felt the blonde's shoulders relax, and she let her bookbag fall to the ground as she wrapped her arms around Rachel in return.

"I don't know," Quinn mumbled. "Sometimes I get paranoid."

"Well." Rachel stepped back and reached down to throw the blonde's bag over her own shoulder. The wobble in her step seemed to amuse Quinn as the brunette found the bag to be a little heavier than she had originally anticipated. "You have absolutely no reason to be paranoid, I don't keep secrets from you."

As they walked to Quinn's car to head home, the note remained forgotten in Rachel's pocket. She hadn't even realized that she'd lied.

* * *

"I'm sorry I did that thing again." Quinn looked down at her plate and swirled the pasta around with her fork. Rachel didn't respond at first, opting to watch the blonde instead.

There were few things Rachel loved more than a Quinn that was willing to actually talk to her. When the blonde got like this, it was almost as if she was a completely different person. Even something like admitting she had been hiding her thoughts was huge for Quinn. Rather monumental.

Quinn sighed when Rachel still hadn't responded and she looked up to meet the brunette's gaze.

"Hi." Rachel smiled at her and the blonde immediately looked back down at her plate, her hair falling to hide her face. She felt it was necessary to greet her friend like that every time she opened up because she really _was_ different. A new Quinn meant a new conversation.

"Why do you do that?" she asked when she finally looked back up. "_How_ do you do that?"

"Do what?" It was almost as if Rachel had said the wrong thing, and she felt the need to chase after the smile that had slowly fallen from Quinn's face. She hated feeling like no matter what she did was wrong, even if she knew it that wasn't exactly the truth. The blonde would always compliment her whenever Rachel would do something that made her smile—which was more often than not—and so it wasn't that she was doing something wrong. It seemed more like she _wasn't_ doing something right.

"Nothing." She saw the swallow in Quinn's throat and let the conversation die as the blonde turned back to her food with a slight shake of her head. By the time they were finishing up, Rachel was more than ready to go up to her room—Quinn had already promised to stay the night and it was getting late.

"So," she started, taking her plate up to the sink to rinse it off. "What movie would you like to watch tonight?" Even though she wanted to sleep more than anything, movies were a ritual.

Quinn followed her to the sink, scooting Rachel over to rinse her own plate. Rachel tried to offer to do it for her but the blonde waved her hand and would have none of it. Placing the plate on top of Rachel's, Quinn turned to face her.

"I was thinking…" Rachel watched as her friend put on a false thinking face and tapped her finger to her chin. The brunette knew from experience that that expression never amounted to good. Just as Quinn opened her mouth to finish her sentence, Rachel's heart felt like a truck ran into it without managing to squash it; that smile on Quinn's face was more than telling. "A horror movie."

"You know I'm terrified of those!" she squealed. Last time they'd watched a horror movie together it had been _The Strangers_ and Rachel hadn't been able to answer the door for a month. Well, by the forth week she could manage as long as she had already dialed 911 into her phone—so she'd only need to press send—and her daddy's trusty baseball bat.

She remembered Quinn's laughter as the blonde had stared in shock the one time Rachel had answered for her. She'd asked how on Earth Rachel had planned on using the bat when she wasn't even holding it properly.

Rachel sniffed at the memory—it had been more for appearances anyway.

"Well, then, I guess you'll just have to cuddle with me all night." The blonde winked before turning on her heel and heading to the stairs, the sound of her footsteps sentencing their fate that night.

Grumbling to herself about stupid eyes and how Quinn was lucky she really liked the smell of vanilla, Rachel trudged upstairs and prepared herself for a terrible night of horror.

* * *

_**#5 Her lips.**_

Rachel stared down at the paper in her hands in disbelief. It had been a few days since she'd received one, seeing as it was finally Friday, and the brunette had almost convinced herself that she wouldn't be receiving any more. She wondered now if there was a system to the notes, seeing as this note seemed particular.

Of all of the other notes she'd received, this one was by far found in the trickiest of places.

Right in front of her, on her desk, sat her tiny—and empty—tube of chapstick. The cold whip to the outside air was more than enough to have her drinking extra water and an added cup of tea every night. Then, for some odd reason, the cheerios had decided to sell chapstick to the school population—Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to know why Coach Sue needed more money than the school supplied—and it had seemed as if it was perfect timing.

At least, Rachel thought that until she was sitting in her math class with an empty plastic tube and yet another note.

Whoever the culprit was…he was good. Good enough to roll up the note, plant it in the chapstick, and figure out a way to make sure that would be the one she received.

And he also sucked because now she was down a dollar and a tube of chapstick.


	5. Chapter 5

**I kind of feel awful for how long this took. I don't understand where the time is going. Not into my college work, that's for sure.**

**Anywho, I'd like to know your thoughts on what's going on. I mean, I have this whole story mapped out so _I_ know. But I guess I can't figure out how I'd picture it if I wasn't the one writing it. I'm happy for all the follows, favorites, and reviews (as always). Never be afraid to drop an extra review, though. :)**

* * *

Heading over to the Cheerio booth, Rachel had two goals in mind: 1, to interrogate whoever was selling the product in an attempt to figure out who planted the note and 2, to buy an actual stick of chapstick. Her lips would soon be suffering if she didn't and she refused to even consider the fact that part of her worry was because apparently _someone_ was looking.

Ignoring those thoughts in the back of her head, Rachel looked ahead as the booth came into view and sighed in relief. It appeared as though the same people were working as when she had bought the original tube. She recognized Santana and Brittany, but the other brunette was nameless to her. While Rachel thought that her name might be Alex, she couldn't say for sure. The Cheerios were not a topic she and Quinn discussed very often.

When she had been in class, she'd spent most of her thoughts on how to approach the group. She had a few scenarios in her head but, by the time she reached the front of the small line, she found her courage was distinctly lacking. It wasn't that she was scared of Santana, per se. Quinn had pointed out many a time that the Latina was harmless. Rachel just preferred to be cautious.

"You just gonna stand there, Hobs?" Santana looked less than impressed and Rachel felt what little determination she'd built up begin to dwindle. Shifting on her feet in an attempt to reinforce some of her motivation, Rachel cleared her throat and looked back at the intimidating Cheerio.

"Well, Santana, I actually came here as an unsatisfied customer." She hated that there was one thing she absolutely couldn't control when she was nervous—her rambling. It was fortunate that everyone already thought she talked a lot, so she thought maybe Santana wouldn't notice. "You see, earlier I purchased this tube of chapstick due to the decreasing temperatures outside. I find chapped lips seem to mesh with singing and, though I've been drinking plenty of water, it never hurts to be extra prepared."

Rachel reached into the back pocket in her jeans and retrieved the tiny bottle. Taking off the cap, she showed the bored-looking girl the hollowness. "However, when I went to use it, I found it was empty. Thus, I am here to seek reimbursement."

"It was completely empty?" Santana asked in reply, confusing Rachel. It was weird, the way the other girl had emphasized the word "completely." There was just enough vocal play on the word that Rachel thought she might know more, but not enough to say for certain. One thin eyebrow was raised and Rachel wondered if all of the Cheerios had perfected the art—because Quinn certainly had, too.

Rachel stumbled over her words. "Well, I guess…" She tried to find something in Santana's features that would tell her what the right answer was. She wasn't sure whether to lie but her decision was made at Santana's complete neutrality. Something about the way Santana seemed _too_ nonchalant about the whole ordeal stuck out to Rachel and the singer instantly became suspicious of the girl in front of her. It seemed that the Cheerio might know something, or that she at least knew more than Rachel thought she did. She resolved that lying would not get her anywhere, so she instead decided to play clueless. "There was this piece of paper in there, but I have no idea what it was for."

Rachel had prepared for two outcomes: Santana would either react strongly to her words or let them breeze past her. The Latina did neither and Rachel found herself wondering just how good of an actress the other girl was.

"Did the paper say anything?" she asked. "I bet there were instructions for how to dress in the morning, seeing as you could use a little help in that department." Dark eyes raked down Rachel's outfit and she blushed. Her choice in clothes last year had been…questionable. But she really couldn't be blamed, seeing as she was too afraid to buy nicer clothes when they'd likely just get stained with Red Dye #40.

"I resent that—my style of fashion has improved greatly from last year."

Santana shrugged and Rachel stomped her foot, unable to control her growing irritation with the Cheerio.

"Can you just give me the chapstick?"

Santana stared at her for a second before smirking and reaching back to grab a stick.

"Looks like the little kitten is finally learning she has claws." She laughed as Rachel swiped the tube from the air after she tossed it to her. The shorter brunette huffed as she turned on her heel and performed a mini storm-out.

It wasn't until Rachel was halfway to her next class that she realized Santana had successfully prevented her interrogation; she hadn't received even the slightest clue about her mystery man.

* * *

By the time lunchtime hit, Rachel had no intentions of going to eat with her friends. What she really needed was just some alone time and she was determined to get it. As her schedule would permit, it seemed the only time she had available was now, so she grabbed her lunch from her locker and headed to the auditorium.

There was something about being alone on the stage that left Rachel feeling both comforted and lonesome all at once. Back when she was still being bullied, she'd often find solace under the many lights—it was almost ironic that her hiding space literally put her in the spot light. For some reason, it seemed that her tormentors had never bothered to check the auditorium. Rachel was more than fine having a sanctuary.

She placed her lunch down on the wooden floor before sitting next to it with crossed legs. Though she definitely planned on eating her meal—skipping it would be much too unhealthy—she found she didn't really have an appetite. Rather, her thoughts were eating away at her.

It was burdensome, all of these worries that picked random opportunities to gnaw away at her. It was as if every time she managed to put those thoughts about the notes in the back of her mind, they'd find a way back to the front. It was infuriating, really.

She supposed the notes were romantic, in a way. Yet, seeing as she could literally see no one as an option, they were starting to bug her. Why did the mystery guy have to be _so_ mysterious? And why hadn't she met him or talked to him before? And, if he was supposedly in love with her, why didn't he just ask her out?

Was it because of her old reputation?

She waved the thought away the moment after she thought it. Quinn and Noah had done everything in their power to prevent her freshman year from coming back to haunt her. She hated it, but part of Rachel wished they could take the memories, too. She remembered telling Quinn it was just more fodder for her future autobiography, and an example of how she overcame a hard trial of her life.

She also remembered going home in tears nearly every day.

Which was probably a huge reason this whole note situation was bothering her. If it wasn't having been deemed a loser her freshman year, then what was it? What could possibly be keeping the boy away?

Rachel vaguely wondered if maybe the idea was for him to reveal himself with the last note. She paused her thinking process, deciding to imagine that situation, as it seemed to be a pretty good scenario. The notes were always left somewhere that related to the words, but maybe he'd be holding the last one. Or, maybe there would be a note that said "Turn around," and she would, and he would be right there.

Then it hit Rachel—what if she wasn't attracted to him? What if it was a boy that had made fun of her? She thought she might actually die if it was someone like Karofsky.

That would be horrid. Then again, she figured that everyone was worth a shot. Especially someone who had set everything up. The set-up was not so easily arranged and, though it annoyed the diva on occasion, she could appreciate how elaborate it all was. She just really hated surprises.

Rachel sighed, her head resting on her left fist. Though it was completely unsanitary, her right hand was drawing shapes on the stage floor. Looking at the clock, she realized a little over fifteen minutes had passed and she really needed to start eating her lunch.

Not actually making a move to bring her bag in front of her, Rachel wondered what her father had made that day. She had been running late and hadn't had time to pack it herself, so her daddy had kindly offered. The only downside was that he wasn't the best with food—that was her dad's job. Still, it was lunch and she'd love him no matter what. Unless his food killed her, then she'd haunt him.

Just as she reached for the brown bag, Rachel caught the flash of light from the back of the room. Her back straightened, wary of whoever had just entered. She was usually the only one to enter the auditorium, so anyone else was almost considered an intruder in her book. However, as the door closed, she relaxed—the familiar head of blonde headed in her direction was easily recognizable. Lunch bag in hand, she started pulling out her meal as Quinn made her way down.

Once the Cheerio came to a stop at the base of the stage, she silently rested her arms on the stage floor and her chin on the tops of her hands. Rachel watched as her friend looked down, almost as if nervous, before she looked back up.

"Hey," she greeted, and Rachel wished she could turn the lights down a bit because they suddenly felt a little too bright, a little too warm. Everyone always joked about how she liked to be the center of attention but, with just her and Quinn in the room, is was more uncomfortable than anything else.

"Hello, Quinn. What brings you here?" Rachel was confused because Quinn hardly ever came to the auditorium for lunch. The blonde always said she liked the continuous buzz in the cafeteria, and how it would never be silent. They both tended to overthink a lot, and Rachel always thought it was funny that they seemed to need opposite environments for when they did.

"Well, my best friend decided to go AWOL during lunch, so I figured I'd better go check to see that she's still alive," Quinn said as she gave the smaller girl a pointed look.

A small wave of guilt washed over the shorter girl as she realized that she hadn't really informed anyone that she would be missing lunch. Her table had probably wondered what had happened to her, seeing as she always announced when she would be skipping lunch to practice instead.

"Yes, well, I wasn't quite up to dealing with our peers today. I think I just wanted some peace to think for a little bit."

It was a risk, telling Quinn she just wanted to think. There was the chance that Quinn would want to know what was bothering her, and Rachel still felt hesitant about telling her friend about the notes. Even though she hated lying, she felt it was a little too late at this point to tell Quinn without hurting her even more than she would by not telling her at all. Besides, Rachel doubted anything would come of the letter anyway.

"Oh." Quinn straightened. "Did you want me to leave?" She already looked ready to take off by the time Rachel caught up to the implication. There was a slight frown on her forehead and Rachel wondered if Quinn was trying to figure out if she'd done something wrong. The shorter girl felt like an idiot, having phrased it the way she did.

"What? No, of course not," she exclaimed, not realizing how loud it would sound in the echo. She cleared her throat, blush adorning her features; the lights really were hot. She had done her thinking and, had Quinn arrived a few minutes earlier, Rachel didn't know what her answer would've been. But as she was, the brunette was more than happy to spend her lunch with just her friend. "Are you going to come up here or not?"

Quinn's shoulders visibly relaxed and Rachel felt a smile take place at her friend's actions. She was confused when Quinn took a few steps back and, for a brief second, she thought her friend had chosen to leave. Before she could truly question it, the other girl ran the few steps forward and hoisted herself over the stage. Rachel wondered if she would be able to do the same thing and promised to try next time—with Quinn spotting her of course. She didn't want to fall and break her talent, after all.

"I thought you'd never ask," Quinn said as she sat across from Rachel and stole a celery stick. The glare Rachel sent in response proved ineffective as the blonde only ended up grabbing another one.

"If you keep stealing my food, I might just wish I hadn't." Rachel said it jokingly as she reached back into her bag, but she wavered as Quinn responded. Whatever her friend had replied back with was lost to the singer as all of her focus was on the small piece of paper she saw at the bottom.

_**#6 She's a vegan**_

"Rachel?" She heard, hoping it was the first time Quinn had said her name.

Refraining from visibly shaking off her shock, the brunette looked over at her friend with as much nonchalance as she could manage. She'd managed to avoid telling Quinn thus far and, for the first time, she thought her mystery man had the worst timing.

"How can I help you?" the brunette asked, trying to play it off as a joke.

It really freaked Rachel out that someone had gotten into her lunch bag. The bag had been in her locker the entire day, which meant that—not only had this guy found his way into her car—he'd also gotten into her locker. Her locker that was equipped with a combination lock.

Her suspicions of someone helping him suddenly found their way to the forefront of Rachel's mind. Only a few people knew her combo—Quinn, Noah, and Kurt. Kurt didn't even go to their school anymore, so he was out of the question. Noah had seemed genuinely surprised and hesitant at the notes, so Rachel mentally crossed him off as well.

That left the girl across from her. The girl who looked as if she didn't know how to respond. Rachel celebrated her small mental victory of knocking the Queen off her game before realizing that the blonde was potentially part of the whole scheme.

"Is there a spider in your bag or something?" Quinn asked. "You looked panicked for a second." Did Quinn _know_? If Rachel was right, then Quinn would've been the one to put the note there.

Rachel laughed for two reasons: one being that she would've been way more dramatic had there been a spider in her bag, and two being that she was playing off of Quinn's _apparent_ cluelessness.

"There's just a note in my bag, from my father. I forgot he still does that sometimes."

The Cheerio's eyebrows came together in confusion as she took another bite of celery that wasn't hers. "Then why did you look so freaked out?" Rachel hesitated. She really had no proof that it was Quinn who had planted the note. In fact, she had more than enough proof to detest the fact.

First, Quinn would have told Noah because she knew her two best friends refused to let her date anyone they didn't jointly approve of. Seeing as Noah had seemed clueless, Rachel was led to believe that Noah had been told nothing. And that had to mean that there was nothing to be told. Second, Quinn's involvement would mean the blonde knew the person; if Quinn knew the person, then it was likely that Rachel did, too. And Rachel had already crossed off most of the people she knew. She still had a small hope for it to be Jesse. Third…well, there was no third.

But, as Rachel looked into her best friend's eyes, she couldn't find a real reason to believe she had anything to do with the notes. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe it. Because believing it would mean that Quinn could, and did, lie to her. She chose to ignore the thoughts of hypocrisy in her head that told her she was capable of lying to her friend just the same.

"Well, before I realized it was my father's handwriting, I considered all of the possibilities. What if the note was from a murderer? Or a stalker?" Rachel's eyes widened as the latter option was actually a possibility. If Quinn really wasn't involved, then it was likely that someone knew way too much information about her. She decided to backtrack to give herself some piece of mind. "Or Santana with her words of wisdom?"

Quinn laughed and Rachel fought herself over whether to feel good or bad about the lie. In the end, it wasn't hurting Quinn, but it _was_ hurting their friendship.

"I highly doubt Santana would ever leave a note in your lunch. I'm pretty sure she has an irrational fear of vegan food."

Rachel huffed. "That girl eats Sue Sylvester's Cheerio diet and she's afraid of vegetables?"

Quinn's shoulders lifted before promptly falling back down. "I never said she made sense."

* * *

"You must think you're so clever, Lopez." Hand on her hip, Rachel's posture held all of the confidence that the girl herself didn't.

After lunch with Quinn, the brunette had gone about her day as usual with only one disturbance. During her last class of the day before Glee, she'd finally decided to use the chapstick she'd purchased. Luckily, there had been actual chapstick in it this time. It wasn't until she uncapped and applied it that Rachel was aware of what the Latina had done.

Santana looked away from her conversation with Brittany with an amused smile on her face, one that quickly faded as she stared down the girl in front of her. Instead, a smirk graced the girl's features. For a moment, Rachel second-guessed her decision to confront the Latina before Quinn had arrived. "I don't think it, dwarf, I know it."

Rachel felt her nostrils flare, though she wasn't sure if her irritation was at the nickname or the cocky attitude. She really wasn't that short of stature, seeing as Santana was only a few inches taller.

She decided it was definitely the attitude.

The nicknames she was used to, but it wasn't often that she would converse with the Latina, so the upfront attitude was new to her. Yet, Rachel found she had interacted with the other girl more times in the last two weeks than she had all last year.

"Very Berry? Please, a five year old could be as clever."

"What's Rachel talking about, San?" Rachel watched as Brittany touched her hand to Santana's shoulder and her eyebrows furrowed. She was curious if Brittany was always that touchy with the other girl. Then again, she remembered that Brittany was a very physical person, and Rachel had been hug-attacked on more than one occasion.

It was hard to keep up an attitude with Brittany in the conversation, so Rachel sighed and resigned to her fate. She should never have given it an attempt in the first place.

"Berry was just thanking me for the chapstick I gave her earlier, B." The darker Cheerio gave Rachel a pointed look, not that she needed to seeing as everyone and their mother knew not to mess with Brittany.

"Did you give her the Very Berry like I told you to?" Brittany asked, and Rachel cringed.

"Yeah, B. She loves it, right Hobbit?"

The diva was about to respond when, just in time, Mr. Shuester entered the room and announced the start of the day's meeting. She gave the blonde Cheerio a genuine smile, ignored Satan, and headed over to her seat mildly perturbed that Quinn was still absent. Of course, the blonde chose that moment to enter the room, a light sheen of sweat coating her skin.

Rachel merely gave the blonde a questioning look as she sat down, waiting for an explanation.

"Sue," Quinn stated, not choosing to elaborate much to Rachel's disappointment. The brunette gave her friend the benefit of the doubt, figuring she would just tell her about it later.

* * *

It turned out that Coach Sylvester had ordered Quinn to move all of the Cheerio trophies from the glass cabinet in her room to a new glass cabinet—that the coach had demanded Figgins order—in a hallway at the opposite end of the school. Sue had then timed her, only to decide that the student body was unworthy of seeing the trophies of the Cheerios' excellence. Quinn was then expected to move them all back…in half the time.

Rachel had absolutely no idea how the woman had found her way into the education system—she was a legitimate psychopath.

She also had no idea why Quinn was targeted, until the blonde informed her they were going to the mall after school.

"But you have Cheerios practice!" If Sue had made Quinn run pointless errands for no reason, Rachel could only imagine what she would do if Quinn skipped. She didn't even have to imagine, technically, seeing as she'd heard stories about other girls who had skipped. The brunette shuddered, recalling stories of PTSD and mangled limbs. She didn't necessarily believe the latter rumors, but she was too afraid not to.

"Have you even been listening to me?" Quinn asked, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading towards the exit. Rachel immediately pushed off of the locker she was leaning on and followed. "I just explained that I got out of it."

Rachel hummed in response, connecting the punishment to the ability to miss practice. Her mind had been cloudy for most of the day.

As they both headed to the blonde's car, Rachel realized something.

"Is that why you offered to drive me today?" That would mean that Quinn had planned this all day, and it wasn't some spontaneous trip.

Rachel might not have thought anything much of the situation if her friend hadn't _mhmm_'d as an answer and avoided her gaze. She realized she did have a third reason to believe Quinn had nothing to do with the notes: the blonde was horrid at lying to her and hiding things.

"Quinn," she stated, waiting for the other girl to meet her gaze.

Her friend stayed uncharacteristically strong for the duration of the trip, managing to avoid looking at Rachel even when she turned the radio to some weird techno station. The brunette huffed—Quinn _hated_ techno.

Once the car was parked outside of the mall and Quinn had the key in her hands, and hand on the door, the blonde finally looked over.

"Are you coming?"

Rachel just stared at her in disbelief. The blonde was most definitely up to something, that much was obvious. She wouldn't have kept the reason for their unplanned trip a secret otherwise.

"What do you have planned?" The brunette crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her chin up—she would _not _be fooled by her friend's pout that was sure to come. She wouldn't.

"Rach," Quinn whined, but the brunette heard the play in it. "Can't you just trust me?"

Rachel refused to give in to the tone, instead choosing to watch the outside world. Snow still had yet to fall, but the wind was picking up and a few trees were being blown every which way. A group of girls was running from the parking lot, and the brunette noticed the coats and scarves most of them were wearing.

Mentally cursing at herself, Rachel realized she'd left her sweater in her locker at school. She must have been too distracted with Quinn's story to notice the chill outside when they had left.

With a sigh, Rachel looked over at the blonde and prepared herself. Just as she thought, the expression on Quinn's face was ridiculous.

"It's cold outside."

"Well," Quinn drawled. "It's a good thing the mall is inside then, huh?"

"You made me forget my sweater." Rachel stuck her lower lip out, determined to get at least a little pity if she was being forced into whatever debacle Quinn had decided on. She doubted it was anything too awful, but part of her feared she'd end up in the movie theater seeing the latest horror flick. Again.

Quinn had a knack for being the worst best friend in the world, sometimes.

As if having predicted this outcome, the blonde reached into her back seat and handed Rachel a random hoodie. Eyeing it, the singer noticed the Cheerios logo on it and rolled her eyes. Quinn _knew_ it was her favorite hoodie—she'd threatened to steal it on more than one occasion. After all, the Cheerios spared no expense when it came to merchandise…and it was possibly the softest hoodie Rachel had ever worn in her entire life.

"Oh, look at you being all cute with your attempt to butter me up with your Cheerios hoodie." Rachel noted her friend's slight blush at the words and figured it was over being caught. "Well, Quinn Fabray, I am _not_ the kind of girl to be swayed by nice things."

Quinn narrowed her eyes, sighed, and stepped out of the car.

"I never said you were. However, if you're not coming, I'll just shop by myself," she said. The door closed and Rachel scoffed.

There was no way Quinn would just leave Rachel in the car, so the brunette decided to call her bluff. Quinn knew she hated being alone in parking lots—it only led to kidnappers and murderers and terrible endings.

Sure, the blonde constantly mocked her overactive imagination, but she knew that Rachel couldn't help it. Surely, she wouldn't abandon her.

Rachel watched as the other girl kept walking, never looking back. Her blonde hair was flying in every direction with the wind and it would have been funny if the sun hadn't chosen that moment to rest behind a cloud. The wind passing by the windows suddenly sounded more sinister than refreshing. Quickly, she decided it wasn't worth the risk and she shoved the sweater over her head as she scrambled out of the car, calling after her friend.

"You will not leave me here to die, Quinn Fabray!" It was even colder outside than she thought it would be, and she blamed it on the sudden shade. The wind was strong enough that she felt her steps were uneven and she found herself happy to be heading towards the mall—at least it would be warm.

"You didn't even last a whole minute!" the other girl called over her shoulder. Rachel forced herself to give Quinn that one, seeing as it was true, and decided she would only sulk for a few minutes once they were inside.

Just as she was about to catch up, she stuck her hands in the pocket of the hoodie to keep them warm. Something tickled the back of her hand and she maneuvered her hand to grab it, pulling it out so she could hand whatever it was to Quinn. She looked down at it just as she was about to grab her friend's attention and her voice stuck in her throat.

_**#7 Her hugs are better than any sweater.**_

The blonde continued walking, oblivious to the fact that Rachel was no longer following. Rachel, on the other hand, stared ahead and really started to wonder what the hell was going on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for everything you guys give me, as usual. Reviews, follows, favorites, etc. Always make my day.**

**On another note: I am curious as to why I had a huge ****follow/favorite attack the other day? Can anyone explain that to me, because, while I am certainly not complaining, I am utterly confused as to why people chose that random day to surge…and stuff.**

* * *

Rachel had no idea how she managed to get her legs to start moving again. She felt as if the words had slapped her in the face, adding to the already harsh whip the wind seemed to be carrying. It was a particularly strong gust of wind that ended up snapping her out of her trance, as the small piece of paper almost flew right out of her hands.

She probably could have stared at Quinn's retreating figure until the blonde all but disappeared into the building in front of her had she not come to her senses. Rachel thought the chapstick and the locker was strange, but Quinn's sweater took a whole new turn.

Not only would the person have to get to the Cheerio's hoodie in the first place, he would have to know that Quinn would give it to her. But there was no way he could have known, seeing as she had left her own sweater in her locker by pure accident. Had he left a note in her own sweater, too, as reassurance?

Rachel trudged on, catching up to her friend just as she reached the doors. The blonde grabbed the handle of the door and Rachel could only stare at her as Quinn held the door open for her, her arm swooping down and towards the inside as if to say "lead the way."

"M'lady," she said, eyes twinkling.

There was simply no possible way some guy could have planted the note in the sweater pocket.

Rachel swallowed, realizing she had been wrong. Quinn had to be the one to have planted the note, which meant the blonde was indeed involved with the messy ordeal. Which meant that Quinn _was_ hiding something from her.

But why? Okay, so she understood the mystery, but now she was beginning to truly question Noah's involvement. How many people knew about it but weren't admitting it? How many people were enjoying her bewilderment behind her back?

Rachel wasn't even aware of where they were going, and she hoped Quinn wouldn't notice her distracted mood. As much as she wanted to file the new information away for later, she couldn't—the issue was too pressing.

If Quinn knew who the guy was, then she obviously approved. That part made Rachel feel a little better; it meant that, not only was he real, but at least he'd stand a pretty good chance of being right for her. Rachel's only question—okay, so her most immediate question, rather—was why Quinn was so obvious about this note's placement. The other ones technically could have been placed by anyone, though she found it improbable.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, the school lockers probably weren't all that hard to pick. The book with the first note was completely up for grabs, her car had been unlocked, and the chapstick would only be hard in the actual delivery. But if Quinn was involved, and the Cheerios were the ones selling…

Brittany _had_ told Santana, apparently, to make sure Rachel received a certain flavor. Had Brittany also made sure that Rachel received the one with the note?

It was all beginning to make sense now: Quinn had access to her car, and she even had an extra key. Whether Rachel had left it unlocked was insignificant, probably coincidence. Quinn knew the combination to both her regular locker _and_ her gym locker.

Except…Quinn wasn't in her English class. But Noah was.

Rachel frowned—she had been certain Noah's reactions were genuine. She inwardly cursed herself for her underestimation of her friend's acting skills. Clearly, Noah was much better than she thought.

Just as she again began to wonder why Quinn made this note so obviously planted by her, Rachel walked right into the other girl.

The brunette would've stumbled a bit more than she already had, had Quinn not turned around and grounded her by grabbing her arms.

"You okay, Rach? You seem a little spacey." Rachel could only blink at her friend and wonder what the blonde was thinking. Was she laughing inside, knowing Rachel had found the note? Did she enjoy Rachel being clueless?

Really, the singer was flustered at Quinn's apparently extraordinary acting abilities. How had she never noticed before?

"I'm just fine." Rachel took a step back and brushed over the sweater, straightening it out. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't the slightest bit hurt by Quinn's deceit. She tried to understand it; it was a sweet gesture, the confession and the little notes that followed. And, yeah, the guy would obviously need an inside man—or woman, in this case—to help for the more intricate situations. But…it was still a secret Quinn was keeping from her.

What would've happened had Rachel told Quinn in the first place? Would the blonde have acted surprised at the words on the paper? Would she have pretended to be excited and attempt to help Rachel find the mystery man?

As hurt as Rachel felt, she watched as Quinn's face fell at her short reply. She tried to suppress the guilt she was starting to feel, but she knew that even Quinn couldn't be that good of an actress. The blonde was definitely confused by her attitude, and Rachel knew the concern in her eyes was genuine. Her shoulders relaxed as she tried her best to give her friend a small smile.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm fine, really. I'm just a little distracted and you still haven't told me why we're here."

Quinn nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Rachel's. After a moment, Quinn evidently found proof that Rachel wasn't lying and she returned the small smile with one of her own.

"I didn't tell you for a reason—I knew you'd never come," the blonde finally admitted, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

"That sounds very reassuring, Quinn. Why thank you for relieving all of my apprehension. Now we can finally move on from this—"

"Rachel!" Quinn interrupted her, exasperated. "You're actually unbelievable." The brunette scoffed in offense—she was very believable, unbelievably so. Her thoughts paused as she wondered if that even worked as a mental comeback. "It's not as if I brought you here for surprise tattoos or something," Quinn continued, unaware of where Rachel's thoughts were headed.

"Tattoos?" Rachel blanched. Needles were not her forte. She refused to admit to being afraid of them, but she wasn't willing to get a tattoo to prove it.

"You're insufferable." Quinn threw her hands in the air and Rachel thought she was being a touch too dramatic. And then she began to wonder if this was also all some act. Did Quinn bring her here so that she could find another note hidden somewhere strange? "Homecoming is next weekend, Rachel. And we're here to buy you a dress."

"Homecoming?"

"Are you only capable of repeating words I say all of the sudden?" Quinn sighed and grabbed Rachel's wrist, pulling her into the store they were standing in front of.

"I'm not going to homecoming Quinn!" The diva tried to stomp her foot, but she found she needed it so she wouldn't trip over herself. "We talked about this already!" And they had, right after the blonde made Rachel watch one of the most terrifying movies either had ever seen. The smaller girl was still sleeping with the lights on.

"Stop being a child, Rach. You're going and you're going to like it."

Rachel _felt_ like a child, being forcibly dragged by her friend by one arm. She tried to find some pole cemented into the ground to grab onto with her free hand, but all she could find were racks and racks of dresses. The brunette's fear of the mall cops being called on her was the only reason she didn't just grab onto one anyway.

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you," she accused, coming to understand why Quinn wanted her to go so desperately. Obviously her mystery man had something set up for the dance and Quinn had promised to make sure she would show. Oh, it was just too good.

In a reaction that Rachel had absolutely not expected, the blonde turned around with a pale face and was staring at Rachel with wide eyes. "What do you mean by that?" Her hand immediately released Rachel's wrist and the brunette almost fell to the floor at the sudden loss of force. Luckily, she was graced with some modicum of balance and she managed to right herself just in time.

Had Quinn really not expected her to make the connection between her and the notes? The blonde had placed the note in her own sweater!

Rachel bit down on her lip, suddenly losing faith in her own thoughts. Quinn was making her doubt _everything_ and it was really freaking Rachel out. Why couldn't her friend, her _best _friend, just be honest with her? Again, she ignored the fact that she herself was hiding things.

Rachel mentally threw a fit; she had no idea what was actually going on and everything in her head was mere conjecture.

"Just that…" She watched as Quinn swallowed and seemed to look everywhere but at Rachel. Something about the action drew in Rachel's curiosity. Really, Quinn should not have been so nervous as she was acting to be. But _was_ she acting? Rachel didn't know if she'd ever find out, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. "You obviously want your best friend with you. And, seeing as I am she, you would appreciate my presence."

Just like the time she lied about the letter being blank, Rachel felt something that told her to change the subject. That leading Quinn to that area—whatever "that area" was—was dangerous, and that whatever the blonde was freaking out about was something for a later time.

Quinn didn't outwardly show any sign of being placated, but Rachel felt that something in her eyes had changed. She just didn't know what, exactly. She thought they maybe looked dimmer, somehow.

"So you'll go to the dance?" Quinn asked, but her voice sounded flat.

"I guess." Rachel reconciled with her fate. "But only because you asked so nicely." Then again, that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

* * *

Sunday morning found Rachel seated at her desk, pencil in hand, and a blank piece of paper in front of her. She still wasn't convinced that Quinn was part of the scheme. Mostly, the facts led to the blonde's involvement, but her actions didn't. Also, Rachel found herself really not wanting to believe that Quinn could keep such a secret from her.

The brunette had spent the last week thinking that she was stressed out over the writer. She actually laughed at her self, out loud, as she sat at her desk and tried not to chew the pen cap to pieces. Her thoughts were all over the place and she was starting to think she was hallucinating.

_You think scavenging around for a random possible stalker is hard? _she thought, hearing the obnoxious yell of the Cheerio coach reverberate through her mind. _Try finding out that your best friend in the entire world might not only be endorsing this stalker, but lying to you about it, too. That's hard._

It probably didn't help that Rachel hadn't slept longer than two hours that night; it wasn't even five in the morning as it was. After finally allowing Quinn to convince her to get a dress—it was simple, a soft pink, and strapless—her day had gone on as normal. Rachel was loath to admit that she could describe her Saturday as normal, too.

Quinn had stayed over on Friday to play some board games with the Berrytree (as she called them when all three Berry's were present), but the blonde had left after instead of staying the night. And, when Rachel had texted her the next day, her friend hadn't responded.

Rachel knew she should have seen Quinn's withdrawal coming. That moment in the mall, her eyes turning dull—Rachel hated that she hadn't recognized the look. Her friend always looked like that before the walls went up and all of the doors closed. Slammed, really.

The brunette blamed the relatively positive week the two had had. It happened like that sometimes—not often, but occasionally. The faster Quinn's mood changed, the more acclimated Rachel became to dealing with it. Yet, the longer intervals threw her for a loop. An entire week tended to give Rachel hope that she took for granted, and it hurt all the more when Quinn would pull away. She wondered where the blonde had ended up Friday night.

She recalled that Noah had thrown a party. The brunette had been invited, of course, but she had politely declined—after all, she had expected Quinn to stay.

She sighed, staring at the paper in front of her. After over half an hour of planning, Rachel had nothing to show for it. The idea was to plan some kind of investigation to figure out who knew about Mr. Anonymous, but all she had to work with so far was Santana. The singer really didn't want to involve Quinn just yet—her hopes were faint, but existent nonetheless.

She was being ridiculous, she knew, but Rachel was proud of herself for at least filtering many of her ideas. She had no guess as to where the idea of hanging Santana upside down from her ankles until she admitted everything came from, but she wasn't proud of it.

She also vaguely remembered thoughts involving flogging, but she had been spending her time in English class reading about the olden days, so she at least knew she wasn't crazy.

Well, not completely, anyway.

Rachel's head banged on her desk as she gave up on listing ideas but, oddly enough, she felt no pain. Nothing she planned would get her anywhere.

In the end, Rachel had no real proof of anything. She could ask Quinn point blank, but she was scared. Either Quinn would confess, or she wouldn't. Seeing as the latter option was most likely, it would leave Rachel exactly where she had started—unsure as to whether or not the other girl could truly be trusted on the matter at hand.

She could ask Santana, but she'd probably only leave that interrogation with a wounded ego and a sense of impending doom. And possibly a new nickname. No, Santana was most definitely off the list.

Then again, there was Brittany to take in to account…

Rachel yawned, realizing her exhaustion had finally won out over her racing mind. With just enough sense left to crawl into bed, she was asleep within the minute.

* * *

The hallways were empty when Rachel arrived at school, and she felt an eerie sense of déjà vu. The weather had lightened up again and the sun was out with hardly a cloud in the sky. This time, Rachel made sure she wasn't too distracted by nature to lock her car door.

Even though she knew it was unlikely, the brunette prepared herself for an early morning note. Part of her was convinced there would be one on the front of her locker, and she was almost disappointed when she reached the hallway her locker was in and saw nothing. When she finally managed to open her locker, she sifted through her belongings, just in case, but was still left with nothing.

After waking up at two in the afternoon on Sunday—unheard of for the diva—Rachel had gone back to the drawing board. Refreshed, she had decided to trash every previous idea she had come up with and started anew. That meant that no one was off-limits and no one was overlooked; it also meant that Rachel planned on keeping track, and so she started a list of her own.

On her new list, Rachel went over every note she received and finally began to make some progress. For her appearance, the singer could cross off no one—anybody could take a look at her and know those things. The other notes that followed didn't really help much, either, until she reached the latest one. The paper slip in her hand, Rachel eyed the names on her list. She was quite the hugger, but disqualifying those who had never been on the receiving end of a Rachel Berry hug narrowed down the list substantially.

She still had every member of the Glee club down, a few boys from Dalton, an occasional classmate, and…Mr. Shuester. She internally gagged at the thought of it being her Glee coach, and she was one hundred percent certain it wasn't him, but she refused to stray from her new rules: no one was to be crossed off without full proof or deviation from the slips of paper. Unfortunately, she had hugged the over-gelled man once or twice in the heat of the moment during competitions, and so she couldn't cross him off.

Once she'd finished the new list, Rachel had gone for a run. She'd slept in, so her morning elliptical routine had been thrown off and she'd needed to get her frustrations out somehow.

Checking to make sure the list was safely tucked in a small pocket in her skirt, Rachel remembered the reason she had bothered to show up to school so early. She headed back the way she had come from and stopped at Quinn's locker. Her friend still hadn't responded to her texts, hadn't returned her calls, and Rachel was fed up. She wasn't going to let the blonde convince her to go to the dance only to end up being ignored by Quinn the entire time she was there.

Granted, Rachel had all week to get the other girl to abort the total shutdown she was in, but she definitely wanted her Quinn back sooner rather than later.

It wasn't more than five minutes of waiting that Rachel saw the Cheerio heading her way. She watched Quinn's expression as she tried to gauge how to go about it this time. Sometimes, it took coaxing, other times all Quinn needed was a proverbial smack to the head. Rachel hoped the coaxing method would suffice.

When Quinn didn't even meet Rachel's eyes, the brunette began to feel worried. Though it didn't mean anything definite, she feared it would mean the worst.

"Hello, Quinn," she greeted. If the blonde wasn't going to make the first move, Rachel would.

Quinn looked up, finally, as she swapped her bag for her books. Rachel was shocked—the cheerleader looked exhausted. She had dark circles under her eyes, which were probably even worse than they looked since Quinn was wearing concealer. Her eyes themselves were slightly red, and her hair—though in the standard ponytail—somehow managed to look dull, lifeless, even.

"Hey, Rach," she replied, and Rachel could actually see the effort it had taken her friend to do so. Her sole consolation was that the greeting gave her hope that Quinn hadn't simply been ignoring her all weekend. She thought maybe the other girl had just been really busy.

Rachel was just about to inquire about Quinn's weekend when a tan hand, that was not her own, clamped over the head cheerleader's shoulder and Quinn's eyes clamped shut.

"Hey, Qball," Santana said in an unnecessarily loud tone of voice. Rachel looked between the two Cheerios and watched in confusion as the blonde began to shrink in on herself. "Still hungover?"

The singer's eyes widened as realization hit—the bloodshot eyes, the pale complexion, and the overall "kill me now" look. Quinn Fabray was hungover. Quinn, "Golden Girl" Fabray, had spent her weekend drinking. And now, she was hungover. Santana's odd behavior suddenly made sense to Rachel, but the smaller girl didn't know what to do with the new information.

"I'll take that silence as a yes and, for the record, I'm not above saying I told you so." The Latina walked away, having joined the conversation less than a minute ago. The two girls remaining stood stiffly for a moment, one in shame and the other extremely disoriented.

"Quinn?" Rachel spoke softly, unaware of how sensitive the blonde was to sound in her current state. It was obvious something was up because Quinn didn't…she didn't drink.

Her friend just groaned, though, and leaned over until her head hit the locker. "Santana in such a bitch," Quinn mumbled, turning away from Rachel.

"Quinn," she spoke again, a little more forceful this time. She grasped the taller girl's bicep to keep her from walking away.

"I really don't want to talk about this right now." Quinn shrugged her shoulder, shaking off Rachel's grip, and the brunette just let her hand fall. "I'll see you later," Quinn said, and Rachel watched as her best friend—the one currently acting like a complete stranger—walked away from her.

* * *

Though she normally would have considered being partnered with Santana an unfortunate circumstance, Rachel silently thanked her oblivious English teacher for teaming her up with the Latina for the day's in-class assignment. For once in her life, the diva could honestly say that she could care less about whether or not the assignment was completed. Whatever was going on with Quinn was more important than some two-point response, and Santana clearly had some idea about the topic.

"Midge," the girl in question acknowledged as she took a seat next to Rachel. The shorter girl rolled her eyes—she was actually becoming acclimated to conversing with the fiery girl and she found the nicknames to be less insulting and more…she didn't want to say banter-like, but she could tell the Cheerio only used them to get a rise out of her. Two could play that game.

"Satan."

The pair stared at each other until Rachel finally caved and cleared her throat. She'd always known that the cheerleader's eyes were dark—she used to think of them as black and soulless—but she had never actually taken the time to look at the exact shade. They were dark, yes, much darker than her own, but they were a hard brown instead of an endless black. The color was enough to give the Latina's eyes a depth, a kind of mystery. Rachel was sure that it was that depth that drew all of the boys in. Even the girls, she supposed.

Yet, the only mystery Rachel was drawn in by was the reason behind Quinn's behavior.

"You know what's wrong with Quinn, and you're going to tell me," she demanded, calmly placing her pencil at the edge of her desk. She wasn't going to take no as an answer.

* * *

**I realize there was no note in this chapter, but don't you worry. The notes will soon be pouring in, as will a small amount of drama.**

**Alsoalso…these chapters are all _still_ unbeta'd...BUT I reread the story every time I update, so I do correct any changes I find each time.**


	7. Chapter 7

**As always, this is unbeta'd and I'm exhausted. Thanks again for all the reviews/follows/favorites.**

**It's awkward timing updating this with Faberry week…but I'm over it. And I'm hopping on that train. Possibly. Or maybe, out of rebellion, I'll do the past Faberry week along with it. Idk.**

**Enjoy?**

* * *

It was a lot easier for Rachel to pretend to be confident than it was for her to actually _be_ confident, especially under the glare of a certain Latina. Immediately after Rachel's demand, the other girl had leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

The "Oh, yeah?" Santana had returned, quirking her brow, had Rachel clearing her throat and attempting to maintain her hold of the situation. She refused to let the cheerleader intimidate her out of her line of questioning.

The thing was, there was more to the Cheerio than a variety of horrifying—though successful—intimidation techniques.

Santana, with her glares and smirks and narrowing eyes, had the smaller girl off topic before Rachel even knew what had happened. The discussion had drifted to whom Rachel was going to homecoming with when it finally hit her that she'd been manipulated. In fact, Santana had learned all about Rachel's dress and the fiasco Quinn had gone through to _get her_ to buy the dress, and the latter had learned absolutely nothing.

By the time Rachel came to the conclusion that Santana was much better at the game of deceit than she was, the bell was ringing and she watched as the other girl paraded out of the room.

Rachel may not have taken no as an answer, but that was probably because she had never received one in the first place.

* * *

As she headed to Glee, Rachel was practically racing to get to the classroom. She hadn't seen Quinn even once since the morning, and she was already upset over the whole Santana ordeal, so she decided to go right to the source. At the very least, Quinn wouldn't be able to intimidate her out of her line of questioning. The blonde could ignore her, yes, but that wouldn't be Rachel's fault.

She hastened her pace, hoping to beat Shuester there so she would have time to force a statement or two out of her friend. She was running late after discussing a grade with her chemistry teacher and, though Rachel really didn't want to confront Quinn in front of the whole team, she would if she had to.

The room was only a few feet away when Rachel heard Brittany's voice echo from somewhere behind her.

"But she's so sad, San." The bathroom door down the hall was halfway open when Brittany started to leave and Rachel barely caught a glimpse of the blonde before she practically jumped into the choir room.

Immediately, a plan formulated in her head and she decided that today was the perfect day to straighten up the frame hanging on the wall to the left of the door. Of course, that was what she was prepared to tell the duo in the hallway should they question why she was so conveniently located.

However, Rachel caught something out of the corner of her eye and Brittany and Santana were momentarily forgotten. The singer did a double-take, eyeing her chair in confusion. It was in the same place as always, but there was something new in the form of a tiny little stuffed bear with a heart clutched between his paws. The plush was seated dead center, obviously intended for Rachel—if the location wasn't telling enough, the white lettering of "_Rachel"_ over the heart was.

Drawn to the object, Rachel made her way over to it and picked it up. Even though she was late to the meeting, there was no one else in the room and Rachel felt annoyed. Not only did no one put forth enough effort into the club to even show up on time, but that meant she had no witnesses or primary suspects; she had no one to seek answers from. At the thought, she looked down at the animal in her hands, frowning at the thing as if it was his fault.

The bear had soft, dark brown fur, and the heart was clutched tightly to his torso. As the brunette examined the heart, she swallowed when she found a piece of paper hidden underneath it. It was stuffed between the silky red material and the bear's chest and, wasting no time, Rachel unfolded it and read the words.

_**#8 Her heart is big enough to forgive almost anyone (even me)**_

That very heart seized in Rachel's chest and her throat felt thick at the words.

Everything around her today was turning out to be frustrating and she really didn't want to have to deal with even more stress. The bear was adorable, really he was, but the note was too much. Not only was it that last thing she needed at the moment, but it was too personal.

As she thought back to her list, Rachel wondered who on the list had done something that required forgiveness. The _even me_ was not lost on her, but the brunette didn't understand what it meant. Her immediate thoughts went to her biggest fear—the guy being Karofsky—but she shook them off quickly; she had never voluntarily touched the boy, let alone graced him with a hug.

Staring down at the bear was only increasing the diva's anxiety. Someone out there loved her enough to go out of his way to show her. Quinn was ignoring her. Santana was taunting her. Her grade in chemistry was suffering, and she wasn't sure if that was ironic or not. All of these things made Rachel vaguely wonder if her mystery man had been paying even the slightest attention to her of late. Had he even noticed that she was freaking out? Could he not sense the fraying level of comfort with the whole situation?

Someone out there was playing with her feelings and she was no longer okay with it, as if she ever had been. Whoever was leaving the notes was sweet, but he couldn't have had worse timing in Rachel's opinion.

First, Quinn had been extremely excited about homecoming and had managed to trick Rachel into going. Then, just hours later, the blonde had shut down. To top it all off, Quinn _apparently_ drank her weekend away and was ignoring—to the point of avoiding—her.

Rachel felt her grip on the bear tightening and she looked down at it with blurry eyes. She hadn't even realized the anger building up inside of her until she felt the warm brim of tears. She was just so _frustrated._

She hated surprises, and yet everywhere she looked she found a new one. All she really wanted was for Quinn to start talking to her.

And she wanted the other girl to _really_ talk to her. To tell her why Frannie leaving had such a huge impact, and why Quinn always tried to avoid having Rachel over her own house. It was so rare that the blonde just took a moment to talk about herself, and it hit Rachel that maybe the hangover had something to do with that. It didn't take long for the singer to wonder how she had failed her friend so badly and, when she did, the misery she had already been feeling doubled.

With the bear still in her grip, Rachel tucked the note back into the spot it had previously been placed and sat in her chair. Looking at the ceiling, the singer blinked back the tears, refusing to let her emotions get the best of her. The notes were stupid, a petty high school crush, and she was willing to put them on the back burner until everything was fixed with her friend.

As if they had timed it, Santana and Brittany entered the room not a moment later, completely ignoring the girl sitting and staring at a bear in her hands. The rest of the group seemed to file in shortly after, Quinn pulling up the rear. Once the blonde took her seat next to Rachel, the brunette noticed a major improvement in her friend's appearance. Quinn's eyes were no longer bloodshot and she looked a lot less likely to projectile vomit everywhere.

A selfish part of Rachel found that she was highly unhappy knowing that Quinn could recover just fine without her. It only meant that the cheerleader didn't really need her, not that Quinn ever really _needed_ her, per se, but Rachel liked knowing that sometimes she was the only one that could help her friend. Her greatest unspoken fear was that, one day, Quinn would realize the fact and decide the singer's friendship was no longer worth the hassle. Of course, she knew it was a ridiculous fear, but it haunted her nonetheless.

Only seconds had passed since everyone had arrived, and Rachel failed to notice the noise going on around her until Quinn waved her hand in front of her face to get her attention. The brunette was pulled out of her wayward thoughts, gaze now aimed at her friend's perplexed expression.

"What's that for?" Quinn asked, flicking her hand toward the bear still resting in Rachel's hands.

"What was the drinking for?" Rachel shot back, determined to get some semblance of an answer before the meeting was done. She was banking on Quinn's curiosity being stronger than her stubbornness.

The blonde's jaw set and she pointedly looked forward. Rachel prepared herself to be ignored for the rest of Glee, but it wasn't a few seconds later that Quinn's shoulders slumped and she looked back over.

"I had a bad weekend. Now, what's the bear for?"

The diva hummed a response, figuring she could play the quid pro quo game that the blonde seemed partial to.

"I found it on my chair. What made your weekend so terrible that you found it necessary to drink your feelings away?"

"It was just sitting on your chair?" The blonde looked skeptical as she waited for an answer that wouldn't come until she answered her part. She sighed, resting her face in her hands, and Rachel watched as her friend clearly fought some internal battle over what to say. "I had a lot on my mind and it wasn't just something I could talk to you about, okay?"

"Quinn, you can talk to me about anyth—"

"I answered yours, now answer mine, Rachel." The diva sat back in her seat, in shock over a few things. Quinn had interrupted her, yes, but that was the lesser problem. Rachel had not failed to miss the inflection in the use of her whole first name. Quinn called her Rach most of the time, and occasionally Rae, but the hard way she'd said Rachel…well, the way she'd said it just then had been short, abrupt. The brunette frowned, looking back at her friend.

"Yes, it was just sitting in my spot. The heart even has my name on it." The blonde's head was still resting in her hands until that last part. It startled Rachel when Quinn's head popped up at her last few words and the other girl eyed her.

"It has your name on it?" Rachel couldn't read the expression on her friend's face, but it didn't look happy, and she temporarily forgot everything she'd been worrying about for the last week or so. No one was that good of an actress, not even Quinn, and Rachel had no doubt about the sincerity of the line of questioning.

"Why couldn't you talk to me about it?" the brunette asked, and hazel eyes looked away again. Even though she found it easy to lose herself in conversation, Rachel was determined not to let Quinn get the upper hand.

"Because I didn't _want_ to talk to you about it," Quinn stated, and Rachel tried to ignore the hurt she felt at the words. "Does it have anything else written on it?" Her eyes met Rachel's and the smaller girl knew she wouldn't be able to lie, not that she really wanted to in the first place.

"No, but it came with a note," she admitted, hoping her coach would choose just then to walk in so she would be spared elaboration. "Why didn't you want to talk to me? Did I…did I do something wrong?" Rachel knew she was reaching Quinn's limit, but she had already endured a day of being ignored so it wasn't as if it could get worse.

"Why do you always think it was _you_ who did something wrong?" her friend asked, and Rachel was struck by the disbelief in her voice. Any hurt she had felt at the blonde's previous words disappeared as Quinn took the singer's right hand in her own and continued. "Rach, it's never anything you do wrong, I can promise you that. Sometimes I just can't talk to you about certain things."

There was a small smile on Quinn's face as she finished, but Rachel couldn't help but notice that it seemed sad in nature. She turned her hand in Quinn's own, interlocking their fingers and giving the cheerleader's hand a squeeze.

Mr. Shuester walked in right as Rachel was about to respond, so the brunette just returned Quinn's smile and moved her arm so that instead of holding hands they were hooked at the elbows. She then rested her head on the other girl's shoulder, content just to be on her good side again.

With the bear out of sight and out of mind, Rachel felt just a little bit of her stress fade away and she relaxed for the first time in days. Quinn's own body seemed tense to her at first, but eventually the blonde melted into her chair and rested her own head on Rachel's.

* * *

Rachel really shouldn't have been surprised that Quinn wasted no time in bringing up the bear again the second Glee ended.

"So, you have no idea who gave you the bear?" For all her paranoia, the brunette simply couldn't bring herself to believe that her friend was actually involved in anything, so she stuck with the truth.

"I made a mental list of everyone who is a possibility and my goal is to eventually narrow it down."

Rachel held open the door as Quinn trailed behind her and they continued to walk toward the blonde's locker. Despite the weather, there was still Cheerio's practice, so Rachel had to make due with whatever time they had until they reached the gym. Looking over at her friend for a response, Rachel noticed Quinn seemed to be considering something. Her bottom lip was tugged between her teeth and her mind didn't look as if it was focused on what was in front of her. Namely, Rachel.

So distracted by the blonde—who was too distracted by her own thoughts—Rachel failed to notice the jock walking down the nearly empty hallway. He was headed straight for her and, had she noticed, she might not have recognized his intent for what it was anyway. After all, she hadn't been slushied in over a year.

"Berry," he stated, a foot in front of them and purple slushie in hand. Both girls blinked, neither fast enough to process what was happening until the icy beverage had already been dumped over the girl's head.

Frozen, both in shock and actual body temperature, Rachel didn't move at first. An outraged cry and a loud smacking sound were what broke the brunette out of her trance and she immediately headed for the nearest bathroom.

Not really caring about the fact that people might walk in—school was over, after all—she ripped off her t-shirt and threw it in the sink to her left. She had the hot water running in both sinks and had already started on her hair when she heard the door open.

"Rachel, I—" she heard Quinn's voice cut off but she couldn't look over to see what the problem was, seeing as she had a mop of wet hair hindering her vision.

"Did you bring a towel?" Rachel asked, accepting her hair for as good as it would get. Whatever Quinn's problem was, Rachel knew she had more than enough time to figure it out later. Right now, she just wanted to get some clothes on.

"No, but I'll go get one," the blonde replied, and Rachel heard the door open and close again at her friend's departure. She groaned into the sink, exasperated at the fact that she hadn't brought any extra clothes. Having had a long break between slushies, she had decided to save some locker space.

Rachel stood up, turning off the sink, and began to wring her hair out. As much as she loved having long hair, she remembered how awful it was to get the sugary drink out of it—not to mention the itch it left on her scalp. The singer was about to give her hair one last twist when she looked into the mirror and noticed something she had missed when she first walked in.

Taped to the mirror was another note.

_**#9 She doesn't judge others based on first impressions (luckily for me)**_

The words sent shockwaves of thoughts through the girl, and she wondered what they meant. Had the person made a bad impression, or was he trying to say that he wasn't the most attractive guy? She wondered if he maybe wore weird clothes and prayed—not for the first time—that it wasn't Joe.

Panicked that Quinn could walk in at any moment, Rachel ripped the note off of the mirror and shoved it in her pants pocket. She really hoped that the blonde hadn't been silent over seeing the words. Then again, Rachel realized that Quinn would have no idea that the note was intended for her if her friend was as clueless as she played out to be.

Thinking of Quinn seeing the note, Rachel realized that other people might have seen the paper as well. It wasn't exactly as private as the previous one had been, after all. Her eyes widened as she turned around, suspicious of anyone who might be hiding in the stalls. She bent over and looked for feet under the stalls, disappointed when she found none.

Looking back at the mirror, Rachel was reminded of just how shirtless she was and she quickly moved to the other sink to turn off the water there as well. She wrung out her shirt as best as she could, though it was still pitifully wet. Just thinking about wearing it outside raised goosebumps on her arms, and Rachel noticed the patches of dried slushie that left her skin stiff at the reaction.

She grabbed some paper towels from the bin and dampened them, attempting to get as much slushie off of her as she could. The brunette acutely regretted the lack of her emergency slushie kit.

Just as she got the last of the slushie off her arms, Quinn was back in the room with a sweater and a towel handy and Rachel had never been more thankful to see a piece of clothing in her life. She grabbed the towel first, thanking the blonde, and rubbed her head almost raw with it before running it over every part of her exposed body. When she finally felt dry enough, she swapped the towel for the sweater and pulled it over her head.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked in the silence, eyes aimed at the ground.

"Of course I am, Quinn," Rachel stated, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to de-tangle the worst of it. "It may have been over a year since last I found myself victim of that horrid portrayal of teenage hierarchy, but it's nothing new. Just mildly unpleasant." The brunette gave her friend a wry smile before returning to the sink to grab her shirt. Luckily, her jeans hadn't gotten hit by more than a few wayward splashes, so there was at least that.

"I'm so sorry, Rach. I have no idea why he did that, he wouldn't tell me." Quinn was just standing there looking helpless and the singer hated that her friend would never understand that she had never blamed her for any slushie attack she'd ever received. "I should have seen it coming."

Rachel sighed, her hand falling from her head as she resigned to the mess it probably looked like. "Quinn, unless you planned for him to slushie me for some reason or another, you have no reason to be sorry. Lets just go to your locker so Sylvester doesn't have an even greater reason to torture you, okay?"

The Cheerio nodded, though Rachel didn't think she looked too convinced. She wanted to tell Quinn how a slushie was nothing compared to everything else she was dealing with, but she still had this weird feeling about keeping her friend in the dark about the notes.

As they left the bathroom, Rachel hadn't planned on making further comment about the situation, but she noticed the spill-area had weird patterns. It looked as if someone had half-mopped the area. Curious, she looked over to the blonde.

"Quinn, what did you do to the Neanderthal who slushied me? Because you know I don't condone violence."

In response, Quinn only shrugged and said, "He deserved it, Rach."

The brunette was about to accept that as a final answer—she thought maybe she was better off not knowing—when she was reminded of the note in her back pocket. "Why do you think they do it?" she asked.

"Do what? Deserve it?" her friend inquired, stopping at her locker.

"No. I meant why do you think they slushie people? Everyone knows they're at the top, thus they really have no reason to continually, and literally, toss rank into the faces of our peers. What does it do for them?"

Quinn stopped on the last number and pulled the lock down, the sound echoing in the now empty hallway. She looked over at Rachel, curiosity evident on her face. "Why does it matter?"

"I could ask them the same thing." The _you_ was almost unspoken, but not quite, seeing as the Cheerio in front of her had never personally thrown a slushie.

Quinn rolled her eyes at the other girl's stubbornness and heaved her cheerleading bag from her locker. "I guess because it makes an impression, Rach. I couldn't say for sure."

Rachel bit her lip, the words close enough for her to slip in the question without drawing too much suspicion from her friend. Santana may have been able to run circles around the girl, but Rachel was more than capable of steering Quinn in the right direction.

"But what kind of impression, Quinn? A first impression or a lasting one, given the opinion that they're even different in the first place?"

Had she not been looking for it, the singer would never have caught it, but she had been and so she caught the minute pause in the blonde's actions. She saw the flick of hazel eyes in her direction before they flittered back to her locker, and the slight rise and fall of a pale throat.

Her last hopes that Quinn knew nothing of the notes were dashed at the reaction and Rachel's chest suddenly ached more than it had been all week.

"I don't…I don't know," Quinn admitted, closing her locker and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Why do you even care?"

Ignoring her friend, Rachel felt her emotions get the best of her. "What was your first impression of me?" she asked, suddenly interested. She couldn't explain why she was so irrationally wounded that Quinn had been lying to her, but part of her of her knew the answer. If Quinn was a part of the note-finding process, and that slushie facial had led her to a note, then it meant that the blonde had likely ordered the hit.

And that hurt more than the lying because, as her best friend, Quinn knew how much she absolutely _hated_ that form of bullying over any other. And, really, how on _Earth_ had the blonde or her admirer decided that getting an iced drink to the face was in any way romantic?

Throughout her mental ranting, Rachel failed to notice the look Quinn was giving her. She was reminded of the question she had asked when she finally came to and saw the other girl eyeing her warily.

"Why do you want to know?" Quinn asked, and Rachel couldn't help but notice how tight her throat sounded. She figured the cheerleader felt guilty, knowing she had been caught.

"Because first impressions are important, Quinn."

The blonde seemingly flinched at the words, and Rachel didn't understand; those words had no basis behind them as had her other ones.

"I thought you had a really nice smile," Quinn answered, albeit quietly. "And it reached your eyes, unlike anyone I had talked to that day."

Rachel could only stand there, silent, having not expected that answer. A joke, maybe about her clothes or her loud voice, she had expected. Something so softly spoken, though? It was as if the blonde in front of her was embarrassed to admit it. She realized then that she didn't actually know when Quinn had first gotten an impression of her.

There was a blush before she continued, "And then I heard you sing."

The silence remained for a long moment and Rachel could tell the other girl was uncomfortable, waiting for a response. But she couldn't think, trying to remember how she had met the Cheerio. Her gaze was aimed at the lockers, but unfocused as she tried to clear her thoughts.

"When was this?" she asked to distract herself, hoping to get a clue from her friend.

Quinn didn't answer right away, turning to look over her shoulder and down the hallway. "Uh, the third day of freshman year." Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag, and the singer wondered why she was so tense. "You were standing outside of the choir room with Kurt."

Ah, Rachel remembered that day. Kurt, her then best friend, had told her about his near miss with the dumpster earlier that morning and she had patted him sympathetically on the arm. Then, he had made a joke about the jock's wardrobe and she couldn't help but laugh at it.

Throughout the fond memory, Rachel had no recollection of the blonde being anywhere close. She tried to think about what had happened after that, but all she could remember was Kurt being shoved against the lockers by Karofsky and herself yelling at the burly football player for being an oversized oaf.

Rachel opened her mouth to say something, anything, to her friend, but nothing came out. Quinn shrugged at her as if to tell her that she hadn't expected the brunette to remember anyway.

"I have to go to practice, now. I'll talk to you later, Rach."

As she watched the blonde walk away from her for the second time that day, Rachel frowned. She could not, for the life of her, remember the first time she had met Quinn.

* * *

The drive home was a blank in Rachel's mind, and she was opening the door before she could even remember having stepped away from Quinn's locker. She had the door less than halfway open when she noticed that she hadn't needed to unlock it, and the thought struck her as odd—her fathers always locked the door.

Sure enough, stepping into the house, she saw a figure standing in her living room and, just as she was about to scream bloody murder and make a bolt for her car, she recognized the slim figure.

"Kurt?" she half-questioned, half-exclaimed, running forward to hug the boy. "How'd you get in here?"

"It's nice to see you, too, you know," he teased, and Rachel took a step back, giggling as her previous conversation with Quinn faded from her mind. She jumped forward again, unable to keep her enthusiasm at bay; she hadn't seen Kurt in what felt like years. "You really should hide that spare key in a better place," he admonished, not hesitating to wrap his arms around the girl for a second time.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Well, as of yesterday, I have officially transferred back to McKinley," he answered, a mile-wide smile on his face.

* * *

**Oh, and thank you Poetz for that honorable mention on yo tumblr…which I may or may not be now following :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter was incredibly hard to write because I've actually never really cared for Kurt's character until the end of the third season.**

**That said, I hope it's not a huge disappointment. And, if it is, just know that the story picks up after this point.**

* * *

"So, what's McKinley like these days?" Kurt asked, flipping through Rachel's yearbook from the previous year from his spot on her bed. The brunette wondered what his thoughts were of all the photos, and she watched as he paused at a particular one.

"Well, Glee Club is no longer a spectacular way to find yourself in line for slushie facials," she replied, leaning forward and smiling at the picture he had stopped at. Last year was the first year there hadn't been some astronomical fight between Shuester and Figgins (and Sue Sylvester) to get the club in the yearbook, and the boy was staring at the photo as if it had been the last thing he had expected to see.

"Really?" he looked up, skepticism marring his features.

Rachel shrugged, feeling slightly guilty. "Not as much as it used to be, at the very least." She actually hadn't really noticed—once she'd stopped receiving the treatment herself—if her fellow members were granted the same neutrality.

"I guess that makes sense." Kurt flipped the cover over and rested his elbows on the hard surface. "So, what about you?" he asked. "Any boyfriends?"

The singer bit her lip as she debated on how to answer that. She refused to lie, and she highly doubted Kurt would use the information against her. After all, he didn't really have anyone to tell.

"There is no boyfriend," she admitted. "But…" she trailed off, not knowing how to describe the whole scenario.

"There's someone you're interested in?" he hedged, scooting closer to her as if they were in public and trying to be quiet.

"Well, not exactly. I've been receiving these notes." Rachel jumped off of her bed and grabbed her bookbag. She then unzipped a small pocket in front and pulled out the envelope carrying the notes she'd been collecting before going back to her original spot. "I showed them to Noah, but he said he was clueless about them."

Kurt unfolded the paper she handed him and she watched as he read each piece of material. Though he seemed confused at first, he finished the last note with a laugh and looked back up at the girl in front of him. Rachel's defenses went up and she wondered if maybe he hadn't been the right person to tell if he was just going to laugh at her.

"Rachel! You have a secret admirer!" he practically squealed, and it hit the diva that Kurt hadn't been laughing at her, he'd just been laughing because he was excited _for_ her. "Do you have any idea who it is?" he ventured, and Rachel caught a look in his eyes. She felt this vague niggle in the back of her mind telling her that he knew something she didn't.

"Well, Kurt, it wouldn't very well be a _secret_ admirer if his identity was known, now would it?" she huffed, her paranoia of the boy feeling misplaced. She figured the lack of trust between her and Quinn was messing with her mind.

"True," he acceded. "But we _are_ going to try to find out who it is anyway, right?"

Rachel felt her face light up, happy and relieved to finally have a partner in crime that she could trust. "I was hoping you would help."

Kurt waved his hand in front of him as if it was nothing. "Please, I'm a sucker for drama as much as the next gay man. Now, have you made a list of possible suspects?" he asked, moving the slips of paper in order by number.

"Please, Kurt. My name wouldn't be Rachel Barbra Berry if I hadn't."

* * *

Rachel walked into school with one goal in mind: hide Kurt from the rest of the student body. He still had to go to classes, but her hope was that he would fly under the radar so that she could genuinely surprise the club with his presence.

She gathered her books for the day and, just as she left her locker to find the boy, he turned up with a card in hand.

"I know I shouldn't have forgotten something so important, but I completely forgot to give you this yesterday," he said as he handed over the envelope. "I was told it was of utmost importance."

Rachel eyed the envelope. "What's in it?" she asked, shaking it slightly to see if anything notable moved. She was about to open it when it was snatched from her hands.

"Nah ah ah," Kurt chided. "You can look at it later. Now, we need to use what little time we have to discuss the plan for today." Rachel pouted, but accepted his reasoning. Taking the envelope back, she slipped it into the cracks of her locker so as to save time, seeing as the first bell was about to ring.

As she linked arms with her friend, Rachel thought that the day could only get better.

* * *

Luckily for Kurt—or Rachel, rather—the boy had gone undetected throughout his day. She conceded that it was more likely due to his honed down dress attire than her masterful skills, but that didn't take away any bit of her pride as she headed to Glee.

They had decided that showing up a few minutes late would be the best option, as everyone would be present and therefore wouldn't miss the surprise. Rachel only hoped that Mr. Shuester would have enough sense to wait until she arrived. They were headed to the room and Kurt was talking about a tentative shopping day with Mercedes when Rachel felt her phone vibrate from her pocket.

**Quinn: Where are you?**

Rachel stopped walking just a few feet away from the choir room and bit her lip. It was the first time Quinn had texted her since Friday.

"Rachel, what's wrong?" Kurt asked from beside her, his voice quiet so no one in the club would hear him.

Looking at the boy, Rachel realized she didn't have to answer the text. Her chest lost the tightness it had grown and she heaved out a sigh. "I'll tell you later?" she said as she tucked the phone back into her pocket.

Kurt nodded, though his eyes were unsure, and edged her closer to the door. "Now hurry up, it's been too long since last I sang."

Rachel shook her head, seeing as they sang together the previous night, and smiled as she headed over to the choir room door. It was already open, so she stood in the entrance and started her announcement.

"Dear fellow Glee Club members," she said, hearing Mr. Shuester pause in whatever he was saying. She felt slightly bad for the interruption, but she knew the surprise would be worth it to the man. "I have a surprise for all of you."

She vaguely watched as each member's facial expression changed to varying degrees, but she found herself looking out most intently for Quinn's. Watching her friend send her a quizzical look only wounded Rachel all the more, and she wondered if this was just another act on the blonde's part.

"What is it, Rachel?" Shue asked. Rachel snapped her head toward the man and noticed that he seemed genuinely curious. She smiled at him and knew he wasn't upset over the interruption. A quick look back at the rest of the club had her smile growing.

"May I present to you the not-so-newest member of Glee Club!" She immediately moved over so Kurt could side-step into view and she watched as a slightly self-conscious smile framed his face. He waved, albeit a little more awkwardly than she had imagined he would, and she took it upon herself to re-integrate him back into the club. A slight push inside of the room was all it took.

Most of the members were out of their seats, immediately ready to greet the boy. Rachel noticed how some stayed back, as in two of the three Cheerios and Noah. Quinn remaining seated threw the brunette for a loop; Kurt hadn't been her best friend for life or anything, but Rachel had still expected at least a wave or a smile. Instead, the blonde just looked perplexed.

The surprise wearing down, Rachel watched on as Mercedes drew Kurt to sit beside her, warmth filling her chest at her friend's instant acceptance. She walked over to her own seat, feeling that warmth drain with each step, and aimed her gaze to the front of the room. She could feel Quinn's eyes on her, but she wasn't going to cave.

Out of her peripheral, she thought she saw Quinn's mouth open as if she was going to say something, but Mr. Shuester chose that moment to continue on with the lesson. Whatever words she had formulated must have died on her lips.

* * *

"You're ignoring me," Quinn stated the moment Glee ended. Her hand reached out to touch Rachel's shoulder, but she pulled it back last second when the other girl stood up abruptly and fixed her with a stare.

"I most certainly am not," Rachel retorted, gathering her books. She wanted to make a hasty exit so that she could mull over the events of the day. It wasn't that she was mad at her friend, because she wasn't. She really just wanted to think about things now that she wasn't on a Kurt-induced high.

The previous school day had ended on such a serious note that she'd gotten carried away at Kurt's arrival. With reality setting in, the brunette remembered that finding out about her mystery man was secondary to her problems with Quinn—something she'd clearly forgotten.

"Rachel," Quinn called softly, her tone quite the opposite of the day before. Rachel found herself wanting to turn around and address the blonde, but she refrained. She needed a clear conscious and she knew she'd forgive Quinn the moment she looked at her.

"I have to go. I'll talk to you later," she spoke over her shoulder. The disappointed sound that escaped from Quinn's throat had her tightening her grip on her books, but Rachel refused to break her resolve.

Once she was seated in her car and buckled up, Rachel allowed herself to process what had just happened. She slammed her head against her steering wheel as the guilt of ignoring her friend hit her full-fledge. She had never been good at holding grudges.

Knowing there was no way she'd be able to think much with so many worries nagging at her, Rachel found herself unconsciously reaching for her phone to text Quinn an apology. Only, when she reached back for it, it wasn't in her pocket. Rachel frowned, sure she had last put it there.

Her thumbs tapped out a random beat on the steering wheel as she mulled over when she might have lost it. The only option that made sense was that it slid out when she had sat down for Glee, which would mean it would be somewhere by her chair.

Exiting her vehicle, Rachel trudged all the way back to the choir room hoping she was right, and that no one had already picked it up for her. Sure enough, the first thing she noticed in the room was her phone resting right on the back of her seat, almost ready to fall off.

The slightest bit of worry she'd felt at losing her phone evaporated and she blew out air that would have blown her bangs up had she still had any. Just like Quinn had withdrawn her hand earlier, Rachel paused in her reach with only an inch left until the phone was in her hand.

Her view of the sleek black panel was hindered by a piece of paper lying plainly on top of it and she knew what it was without thought.

Though she was now immune to the excitement of the notes, they still filled her with a certain hesitancy that left her stomach feeling tight and heavy. With each note, she felt further away from Quinn and she wasn't sure if it was due her friend's deception or her own. Just when she thought she could have the day to herself, Mr. Anonymous had to go and ruin it.

She plucked the paper up, bringing it closer to get the moment over with.

_**#11 She h8s txt tlk**_

Rachel was confused, staring down at the note. She could have sworn the last one had been number nine. For the second time, she found herself questioning the note-maker.

Had he simply found her leaving her phone convenient enough to skip the tenth reason, or had she missed a note somewhere? She felt her face scrunch and she smoothed it out, not willing to get wrinkles over whichever boy was admiring her from afar.

Having texted a lot of people in her lifetime, and informing most of them of her hate of shortened text, she knew there would be no crossing off names for this note. The thought filled her disappointment because, even though she was more concerned with Quinn at this point, she was still a girl who appreciated being sought after.

The thought of Quinn reminded Rachel of how she had realized her phone's absence in the first place. She quickly unlocked it and sent an apology to her friend, asking if they could talk the next day. The brunette only hoped Quinn wouldn't be too upset with her, as her friend was much better at holding grudges than she was.

Pocketing the note, and her phone, Rachel headed back to her car. Even though it had started out well, she was more than ready for this day to be over.


	9. Chapter 9

**I got home from work last night and told myself "No sleep until you finish this chapter." Then, I had to cut it in half.**

**I will reiterate that this story was originally 100% fluff. But I am physically incapable of writing a completely happy Quinn.**

**On that note, the faberry feels are coming, I promise!**

* * *

It was a little past five when Rachel finally admitted to herself that nothing she watched on her television within the last two hours had actually registered in her brain. Her mind was much too busy with her current dealings for her to spare even the smallest bit of attention.

Phone in hand, she stared at the blank screen as she continued to deliberate how to respond to Quinn's original response from earlier. After having sent the blonde the request to talk the next day, she'd received _Can we talk today?_ in reply. That was over seventeen minutes ago and she had yet to figure out how to answer.

Messages along the lines of _Can you stop lying to me? _and_ I just want today to think_ were long since typed and deleted before she even managed to send them. The words meant more than she wanted them to and not enough, but she was more concerned that Quinn would take them the wrong way: a larger rift between them was the last thing she wanted.

She couldn't say what it was particularly but, in the end, Rachel decided that her friend was more important to her than her own wounded pride and hurt feelings.

**Rachel: Come over?**

Rachel pressed send before she could take it back and threw her phone across her couch the moment the green check alerted her that her message was successful. She sat still as a statue, staring at the phone for a long moment, before the screen lit up again. Not a second later, she pounced on it, immediately unlocking it and looking for a text from Quinn.

To her disappointment, the screen read an unknown number and she cursed herself for believing that Quinn had texted her back so fast. Reading the text, she was surprised to find it was Kurt telling her that he'd gotten her number from Mercedes, seeing as she had left Glee so soon.

She had half of a reply typed out when she heard someone knocking at the door. For half of a second, she was paralyzed with the fear of some stranger in a mask at the door, but she shook it off just as quickly. Still, she eyed the bat she'd left by the door warily, deciding it was close enough in case she did end up needing it.

With her heart beating slightly faster than normal, Rachel pulled open the front door and sighed in relief as her friend's familiar face greeted her. "Quinn?" she asked, not having expected the blonde to show up so suddenly. She'd only sent the text a few minutes ago, and Quinn lived at least twelve minutes away.

"Hi," she said back, arms wrapped around her chest. Pale hands were clenched tightly around the sweatshirt at her arms and Rachel stepped back, feeling like an idiot for forgetting about the cold weather. The wind was already biting through _her _shirt, and she regretted having removed her sweater. She could only imagine how cold Quinn must be.

"You must be freezing," Rachel noted as she closed the door behind them. "How long have you been outside?" She couldn't believe the blonde could be so affected by the weather from only being outside for a moment or two. Quinn's face was pale from the cold, her lips moderately tinged blue, but her nose was red and, after just a few seconds of standing there, so were her cheeks.

Quinn stepped inside, shuddering at the sudden warmth that enveloped her.

"I was visiting my grandparents' house with my parents when I texted you, so I just decided to walk over," she admitted, and Rachel squawked.

"Quinn! They live four blocks away and—wait, you started walking after you texted me?" Rachel hardly noticed the change in subject halfway through her sentence when it hit her that Quinn had started walking over before she'd agreed to talking that night. "What if I had said no?" she asked, wondering what the blonde would have done.

The other girl looked down, her cheeks a pinch pinker than they were before, and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I was going to try to convince you to talk to me if that was the case," she said when she looked back up. "I don't like knowing you're mad at me."

Rachel gazed at her friend, her expression softening. Quinn always seemed to know how to handle any situation with her when she really wanted to. Any actual anger she'd felt had long since passed, and mostly she was just feeling the residual stress from the situation.

Rachel found herself looking down at her arms, now folded across her chest from the slight chill that still lingered, and tried to think of a proper response. Quinn was her best friend and she was obviously trying this time.

"I don't like _being_ mad at you," she replied honestly. "But you make it so extremely hard sometimes when you avoid me for days, for no apparent reason, and then you just expect me to accept it and move on. That's not how friendship works, Quinn." Rachel watched as Quinn looked over her left shoulder, gaze apparently aimed at the couch or wall, and waited for the other girl to respond.

The brunette could see where her friend was biting the inside of her cheek and she just wished she could see inside Quinn's mind. She hated that she was so open and the blonde was so distant at times, especially at the moment.

When Quinn finally did respond, she turned her head back, and her eyes looked glassy. Rachel felt a chill completely unrelated to the weather run through her at the sight and she had to force herself to remain where she was instead of stepping forward to do _something_. Quinn didn't cry often, especially not in front of her, and she was stunned.

"It's not easy for me, Rach," she said, and Rachel caught the catch in her voice at the end. "I'm not you."

"Quinn," she spoke quietly. Two steps forward was all it took for her to wrap her arms around Quinn's neck. She couldn't have stopped herself from embracing the girl if she wanted to, and she really didn't want to.

After the briefest of pauses, Quinn removed her hands from her pockets and returned the hug, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist. Rachel shivered a little from the cool temperature that remained around the blonde, but tightened her hold in hopes of helping her friend warm up. Even Quinn's neck was cold, but Rachel felt it warming up relatively fast.

"I can't just say how I feel most of the time," Quinn mumbled the top of Rachel's head. "Words are hard."

At that, Rachel pulled back enough to look at the blonde. "But ignoring me and proceeding to drink enough to be hungover is easy?" she asked.

Quinn's gaze roamed across Rachel's face, and the brunette could feel her searching for something. "It was easi_er._ At the time, anyway."

Rachel bit her lip, not happy about the answer. She was willing to bet anything that Quinn would do the same thing if given the chance to turn back time.

"You're cold," she stated, ignoring the tightness in her throat. She tried not to acknowledge the possible double meaning to her words as she pulled away. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate. Feel free to grab a blanket and sit down." Rachel was already halfway to the kitchen when she heard Quinn's sigh, but she was glad to see the blonde take her advice with the blanket.

* * *

Two cups of hot chocolate and a bowl of barely touched popcorn later, Rachel and Quinn were sitting on the couch together and watching an animated movie. Or, rather, Rachel was watching Quinn _not_ watch the movie. The blonde's mind was obviously somewhere else, and Rachel hadn't even wanted to watch the movie in the first place.

Quinn had insisted, though, and she'd given up the battle. Her friend could be very convincing when she wanted to be. Her argument had been that she needed some time to think and that sitting in the silence they'd formed wouldn't help.

"I promise after the movie we'll talk," Quinn had said.

The movie was only a quarter of the way through when Rachel couldn't take it anymore. She never had been patient.

"Qui—" she started, but the girl in question looked over to her and held her hand up at that exact moment.

"You never have been patient," she said, and Rachel felt her jaw drop a bit in shock. There Quinn was, this multilayered safety box with forty different keys, combinations, and passcodes necessary to breach even the first level. Yet, Quinn could apparently read _her_ mind as if it was second nature.

"I hate when you do that," she said, even though it was a lie. There was something so personal about Quinn's knowledge of her that she felt only came with the very best of friendships.

Quinn just smiled this barely-there-quirk-of-the-lips at her as if she knew. Rachel figured she probably did.

"I know it's cold out," Quinn started as she reached for the remote and turned off the television. "But do you think we could go for a walk?" Rachel knew she didn't have much of a choice if she wanted anything out of the blonde. The taller girl was already halfway to the door as it was.

"Only if you borrow a coat." Rachel could deal with Quinn's sporadic behavior, but she refused to allow her friend to freeze herself to death. It was flu season, after all.

* * *

"Might I ask why this semi-freezing temperature is better suited for our discussion—that I'm still not entirely convinced will happen—than the comfort of my very much heated humble abode?" The pair had already walked two blocks and Rachel's doubt was growing with each new pattern of pavement.

"I went for a walk earlier," Quinn said. That was it. She said it as if Rachel had no idea, even though she'd clearly stated that earlier.

Following her friend's lead, Rachel asked, "Why?"

It was too dark to see Quinn's features, but she could picture the blonde shutting down. Her eyes would do that thing where they looked darker, harder. But Quinn said she would talk, so Rachel hoped that her imagination was wrong.

She could hear the deep breath Quinn took before exhaling loudly. "I wanted to get away."

It was like pulling teeth, trying to get information out of the other girl, and Rachel had never aspired to be a dentist. But Quinn was clearly putting forth an effort, so she continued. "From what?" she asked, but she knew the answer the moment she spoke.

Quinn had been at her grandparents' house with her parents. Rachel knew that the blonde wasn't too fond of most of her family, and she thought maybe there had been an argument or something similar.

"Do you know what my family's motto is?"

Rachel had no idea Quinn's family even _had_ a motto, and she didn't have much time to think about it once her friend's pace suddenly increased and she had to take faster steps just to keep up. As much as her legs protested, she felt that maybe she was getting somewhere.

Quinn continued without being prompted. "It's 'Put God first and father second.' Do you know what that means?"

Rachel was clueless for the second time and she could feel the tension in Quinn from the foot of space in-between them. Though part of her wanted to reach out, she was afraid of the movement sending Quinn so far back into her protective shell that she wouldn't get another chance at honestly for a while.

"No, but you could tell me?" There was room to interpret that as either a statement or a question, but Rachel had meant it as a question in case a demand would set Quinn off.

Quinn suddenly stopped and turned around in the middle of the sidewalk. Luckily it wasn't too dark, so Rachel had noticed and she had just enough time to stop. Though it was light enough to see Quinn's outline, Rachel had to strain her eyes to see much of the other girl's face. Small shadows showed enough for the brunette to see Quinn's clenched jaw and tense shoulders.

"It means that what my father says goes. And what his father says goes. And the women in the family have almost no say in the matter," she said, her tone bitter and low.

"Well that sounds dreadfully old-fashioned and outdated," Rachel replied. She couldn't imagine growing up in such a household. While she had been aware of how religious Quinn's family was, she felt that she wasn't as aware as she should have been. Then again, the blonde had always steered away from hanging out at her own house, or discussing the matter, so she really hadn't had much to work with.

"It is."

"So why did you leave?" That had to be the turning point, Rachel figured. Quinn must have left because of something that was said, which possibly related to the weekend debacle.

Silence hung between the two and the brunette didn't dare move. She felt as if the world around them didn't exist at the moment because she couldn't even feel the wind anymore.

"Because," Quinn finally whispered. The left side of Rachel's face ignited when the blonde reached a hand up to cup the side of her face and her stomach did a strange flip that she had never felt before. "My father told me to break off my friendship with you."

"Oh," the shorter girl said dumbly, and she inwardly cursed herself. Her thinking process was hindered by thoughts of how Quinn's hand was so warm. Where it covered her skin, she felt as if it was on fire. "Why?"

The hand dropped and Rachel swallowed, not ready for the disappointment she had felt at the action. The wind apparently chose that moment to return, and Rachel put it down to the rapid onset of freezing cold air. Quinn took a step back then and she worried that the recoil had set in.

"They say so many stupid things that they don't even realize how full of hate they are." She took another step back.

"Who's they?" Rachel asked, willing to do anything to keep the blonde going. "Your family?"

"The fathers Fabray," Quinn chuckled, but it was dark and full of anguish. This was a side of the blonde Rachel had never seen before. "They called you _faggot spawn,_ Rachel, and I flipped. You have no idea…" she trailed off and Rachel tried to coax her into finishing her thought.

"No idea what, Quinn?"

With some distance between the two, Rachel could see her friend's features better. A nearby streetlight highlighted the parts she needed to see, and her heart strained at the tears she witnessed roll down Quinn's cheek.

"Can we go back, please?"

"Quinn," Rachel begged. She knew that whatever the blonde was keeping from her was what was killing her inside, she just wished the other girl could say it aloud.

"_Please,"_ Quinn repeated, and Rachel couldn't find it within herself to combat the plea. The blonde sounded so fragile, so broken, and she hated that her family had made her feel that way. That _she_ made her feel that way.

"Okay." She nodded to herself and shuffled over to her friend. Without hesitation, she linked her right arm into Quinn's only to slide her hand down and interlock their fingers. Unlike at practice the other day, she had no present inclination to let go of the blonde's hand. She squeezed, pulling the motionless blonde to her and giving her a semi-awkward half hug with her left arm. "But you can't keep hiding from me."

Quinn let out a wet laugh but returned the hug with her own free arm. "I can't promise you that I won't," she said, and Rachel at least appreciated that she admitted it.

"Will you at least try? For me?" She looked up at the girl in front of her and felt the familiar ache of knowing something was wrong with her friend. Releasing her hold, she used her newly free hand to wipe away the streak marks on Quinn's cheeks. "You're much too pretty to cry, you know."

Rachel regretted her words and she could only guess at what she said wrong when additional tears formed new paths. "Quinn?" she asked, hoping to get some kind of response.

"I'll try," she said, her voice breaking. "For you."

* * *

"I should go."

Rachel whipped around, her jacket halfway off but completely out of mind. "What?" she asked and she cringed at how sharp the words came out. "What do you mean?" she rephrased in a gentler manner.

"It's getting late and I should go home." Rachel watched Quinn reach for the doorknob but she swiftly slid between her friend and the door, thanking all of her dance lessons for her slight frame.

"You're not going anywhere."

Quinn's face scrunched a bit but it smoothed out just as fast. "I need to go home, Rach." She tried to push past the shorter girl but Rachel stood firm.

"No," she corrected. "You need to not be alone tonight. More importantly, you need to be away from your family and near someone who loves you."

Quinn stared at her for a long moment, eyes giving nothing away. Rachel felt her heart racing, but she refused to give up.

Eventually, the blonde admitted silent defeat and looked away. "Fine."

Once they took their jackets off, Rachel basically had to force Quinn up the stairs and into her bedroom. She handed the blonde a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt before hastily changing into similar attire and jumping under the covers. With all of the drama behind them for now, she finally realized how cold she was.

"Quinn?" she called, poking her head out.

"Yeah," her friend replied. The blonde made her way over to the opposite side of the bed and picked up just enough blanket to slide under and still be as far away from Rachel as possible.

It was then that Rachel realized that, as close as she had come to learning more about the hidden side of Quinn earlier, she had never felt so far away from her.

* * *

The rough end to Rachel's night was more than made up for when she woke up wrapped in something much warmer than a blanket. Though _she_ had fallen asleep facing Quinn, the blonde had originally faced away from her. Now, however, Quinn had moved over a few feet and one arm was around her waist while the other was connected to the hand that was loosely laced into her hair.

For a moment she was hit by how intimate the position was, how any stranger looking at them would assume they were more than friends, but she ignored it. She would take Quinn however she could have her. And, if unconscious cuddling was what she was dealt, she wouldn't complain. Quinn was warm and her breathing was steady, and it lulled Rachel steadily back to sleep.

As much as she wanted to contain the moment, to capture it and never forget, Rachel knew they had school soon. Her internal alarm clock would never let her sleep past six thirteen in the morning—well, not accidently, anyway—which meant that they had at least an hour before they needed to get ready. Of course, she had already decided to skip her elliptical workout.

Glancing up at the blonde with her eyes, Rachel smiled at the quiet snore Quinn released before closing them again and gently burying closer. For the day they'd had yesterday, the brunette was willing to forgo a day of school. It would be her first missed day ever but, as she faded back to sleep, she couldn't find it within herself to care.

* * *

"Rachel, we're going to be late for school!" Quinn shouted, rousing Rachel from her slumber. She couldn't remember her dreams, but she knew they must have been pleasant if the hum throughout her body was anything to go by.

Alert in only a few seconds, Rachel sat up from her spot on the bed and watched her friend scurry around her room.

"I figured we could just skip." She shrugged as if it was no big deal.

The words had Quinn frozen in place and she stared at the brunette as if dumbfounded. "You're joking, right?"

"Well, no. I thought, maybe, you'd want to stay in after last night," Rachel confessed. Fully awake now, she realized Quinn might not appreciate her thought process. Doubt filled her decision until her friend looked back at her with a neutral expression.

"Rachel, if I skipped school they'd call my parents and Sue would have my ass," she said. "Besides, there's something I have to do so we need to go." To emphasize her point, Quinn threw Rachel an outfit she grabbed from her drawers and grabbed the extra cheerleading uniform she kept at Rachel's for such times.

The blonde quickly changed and rushed downstairs before Rachel could even properly pout at the turn of events. Huffing, the brunette changed into the clothes but stopped mid step when she went to leave her room. Quinn had said there was something she needed to do, and her foremost thought took her back to the notes.

Rachel continued to make her way downstairs, her mood now dampened.

* * *

When Rachel opened her locker, she was so distracted by the fact that she was seconds away from being late that she jumped when an envelope fell out. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she picked up the envelope and recognized it as the one Kurt had given her the day before.

As if on cue, it struck Rachel that Kurt had given it to her later than he was supposed to, and the tenth note had been strangely missing. With no time to dawdle, she grabbed what she needed and headed off to class. The halls were mostly empty, so she flipped open the envelope as she walked and stared down at what she saw in confusion. From the small triangle that she could see, she could tell there was a picture inside, but she was at a loss. She thought the tenth note being inside made compete sense, yet no note had come with an attachment before. Her hopes dropped at the thought and she sat down in her seat heavily once she made it to class. Just as she placed her books on the desk, the bell rang and she let out a breath of relief.

She may not have found the tenth note, but at least she got to class on time.

* * *

Once the bell rang and physics officially ended, Rachel pulled the picture out and rubbed her forehead. The hallways were full of students now so she tried to be careful. There, on printer paper, was a picture of Kurt being dropped into a dumpster while a few jocks surrounding the area were high-fiving.

Kurt had mentioned that he had no idea what was in the envelope, but he had been informed to deliver it. He wouldn't say who had given him the original orders and, at the time, Rachel hadn't questioned it.

When she couldn't figure out what the picture meant, she flipped it over and, sure enough, a note was taped to the back.

_**#10 She is more offended for and protective of her friends than she is for herself**_

The meaning of the picture abruptly made sense as Rachel recalled that day. Karofsky had thrown the much smaller boy into a dumpster and another jock had taken a picture of the scene. As if the humiliation hadn't been enough, the photo had been uploaded to Facebook and someone had dared to tag Kurt in it. Unfortunately, it had been his mother's birthday and she saw the photo.

With impeccable timing, Rachel was so involved with reading the words and remembering that she crashed into someone and immediately felt something cold sinking through her sweater. Looking up, she recognized Mercedes and gasped at the girl covered in blue ice.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, Mercedes. What happened?" she asked, but she knew the darker girl would understand what she meant.

"Some nameless hockey player," Mercedes responded, eyes still closed to keep out the dye. "This stuff is _so_ not good for my hair."

Rachel placed her books in one hand and guided her fellow glee club member to the bathroom with the other. Once they were inside, and Rachel cleared everyone out, Mercedes finally spoke up.

"You know," she said, rinsing the slush off of her face first. "I don't blame Q for any slushie I receive." Happy to be able to see again, she wiped off her face with a paper towel. "Hell, I don't even blame Santana, and the lord knows I couldn't even imagine blaming Brittany."

Rachel stood and handed the girl more paper towels as she continued to de-slushify.

"But it's still annoying to have to deal with it, you know? You and Kurt, you don't have to worry. You're protected," she continued. "You've got Quinn for a best friend, and even Puck worst case scenario." Rachel chewed her lip, the guilt creeping up on her with each word her friend added. She wanted to protest, but the larger girl was spot on.

"And me?" Mercedes said. "Girl, I'm open game just like the rest of them. And I hate it." Rachel handed over the last paper towels from her hand and thought of something to say in reply. She had nothing. Mercedes appeared incredibly upset, and Rachel understood it fully. It had to be the worst, knowing that most of your friends were safe, but you weren't.

Rachel couldn't even begin to imagine.

Fortunately, Kurt chose that moment to come bursting in and save the day.

"I came running the moment I heard about it, and I grabbed your emergency slushie case from your locker," he said in a rush, running to the other girl's side.

Rachel watched them for a few seconds before slowly heading out the door. She felt as if they were having a private diva moment and their friendship was something she didn't have with Mercedes.

By the time she reached her locker, Rachel was already late for class and her sweater was unsalvageable. There were only a few spots on it but she most certainly was not going to go around school with a stained sweater. Against her better nature, seeing as the weather had dropped to twenty-seven degrees earlier, Rachel took off the piece of clothing and continued to her next class with just the shirt she had been wearing underneath.

Math went by normally but, on her way to Spanish, Rachel ran into her English teacher who offered her back a pop quiz they'd taken a couple of weeks ago. She'd accepted and thought nothing of it until she sat down and proceeded to ignore Shuester. While not one to ignore a teacher, Rachel made an exception seeing as the man hardly taught the class anything.

With the test in hand and nothing better to focus on, Rachel looked over the quiz, delighted to have received an A. She got to the last question when she saw the note stapled at the bottom.

_**#12 She talks in paragraphs (and essays when she's nervous)**_

She folded the quiz back over to the front and stared at it. Her _teacher_ had handed her the quiz. Her teacher had to have gone through the quiz, graded it, and then, _somehow_, someone had to have snuck the note in and stapled it there without anyone noticing. Rachel shook her head—she didn't need this and she wasn't even sure she wanted it anymore.

Her thoughts trailed to who it could be but she just felt something sour in her stomach at the thought. She was beginning to fear she'd have to break someone's heart.

* * *

When Rachel walked into lunch, Quinn's greeting smile dropped as she asked, "Where is your sweater?" Rachel mentally groaned because she'd planned on bringing up the slushies mid-lunch, not right at the beginning.

"Oh, well hello to you to, Quinn. How are you on this fine day? Did you know, according to my—"

"Rachel." The brunette sat down, a huff of air releasing from her nose. After deciding to ignore the latest note, she had spent the rest of Spanish deliberating just how to word her concerns.

"I got a little bit of slushie on it—" Quinn cut her off.

"_What?"_ she half-shouted, and Rachel covered her mouth, hoping no one noticed the blonde's outburst.

"Calm down, Quinn. I didn't say I _was_ slushied," she said, and the blonde relaxed some.

"Mpfh." Rachel laughed at the other girl, her hand still over Quinn's mouth. She removed it to allow her to speak. "Care to explain?"

"Mercedes had been slushied by a random hockey player, whose name shall never be known, and I was walking down the hallway, distracted by something that came up in physics, when I ran into her. She was covered in slushie and now my sweater will forever be stained blue unless the new detergent my daddy bought has a kick that the previous one didn't."

"Oh," Quinn replied, looking down at her salad. "I hate that I can't protect everyone in the club," she confessed. "But I'm glad it wasn't you."

Rachel hated the part of herself that thought the same thing, and the part that was warmed that Quinn thought it too, even though she knew it meant that others were suffering. She unpacked her own salad and moved the pieces of lettuce around with her fork.

"Why did you?" she asked. At Quinn's curious expression, she clarified, "Protect me?"

The blonde chewed on a mouthful of salad and looked ahead, and Rachel couldn't help but wonder if she was being intentionally slow about it. When she finally swallowed, Quinn turned her gaze back to Rachel and something in her eyes changed.

"Have you ever thrown water on a fire?" Rachel nodded her head slowly, wondering where the blonde was going with her line of thinking. "It's fun at first, the hissing and the puffs of smoke. Then, you pour a little too much before it's had time to recover and it's gone. Just like that."

Quinn pushed her salad forward and started drawing designs into the surface of the table with her finger. Rachel wondered if she just imagined the pattern she thought her friend was drawing. "It's sad, looking at the remains of something once so strong and bright," Quinn continued.

When Quinn pulled her salad back and was about to take another bite, Rachel pushed the other girl's fork down and gave her friend an incredulous stare. Quinn met her gaze and she was struck by how many emotions were swirling in the blonde's eyes. "I consider myself to be a fan of metaphors," Rachel started. "They're kind of my thing, as you know, but I think I need a translation on that one."

Quinn laughed lightly, her hand relaxing and resting on the table. The brunette was thrown off by how unsuited the sound was to the look she received.

"God," she said, and Rachel couldn't fathom what was going through her mind. "You were this little star and, every time you were slushied, I was terrified you would end up like that fire."


End file.
